


Did you hear the rain?

by narryblossom



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bottom!Harry, Endgame Niall Horan/Harry Styles, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Roommates, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Top!Niall, journalist!harry, musician!niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 15:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14571600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narryblossom/pseuds/narryblossom
Summary: Niall Horan, 24, sound engineer seeking roommate of similar age (preferably male) to share rent. One bedroom + reception and kitchen flat, Walthamstow near Blackhorse Road. around £500 per month.email tommo91@gmail.com w/ a pic of yourself, age and job info for more informationserious inquiries only!!!(Harry answers Niall's ad for a roommate, but it seems there's been a misunderstanding.)





	Did you hear the rain?

**Author's Note:**

> fluff, smut, and angst all tied up in one 30k bow. [you can find me here on tumblr](http://narryblossom.tumblr.com/post/173676110475/did-you-hear-the-rain-30k-niall-horan-24)

The headline reads _Man Seeking Roommate_.

Harry considers swiping away the notification, throwing it out of sight and out of mind in favor of instead scrolling through yet another funny pet video (or god forbid an unannounced “emotional reunion” video), but he doesn’t. He pauses, sucking his bottom lip, already red from being chewed and worried over, between his teeth. His second hand comes to support the bottom of his phone as though the situation weighs heavily through the technology.

And then the notification is gone, and Harry finds himself chasing after it curiously, tracing his thumb across the warm glass to draw the message onto his screen once more. It’s an email from Gemma, he notices, and of course it is. He’s been complaining to her for weeks about wanting to move out of their childhood home--about feeling like a burden, but also a bit shameful for being 24 and still living with his mother (not that there’s anything wrong with that. Anne is Harry’s favorite person in the world, and he loves living with her, but bringing home a hookup on the nights he decides he’s too lonely for his right hand are made awkward knowing she’s just down the hall or if his partner tries to stay the night, she’d let them stay for breakfast. There are other things, of course, that have started to bother him about living with his mother, mostly inklings that even she thinks he needs to spread his wings eventually and sooner is better rather than later).

“Check this one out,” he reads in his sister’s voice. “Your age in your favorite neighborhood. Love you.”

He wants to respond if only just to say “love you most” but frets over the reply button just a beat too long--he’s talked himself out of it. Gemma has been sending him lots of listings for flats and duplexes in or at least near enough to the borough of London Harry dreams of settling into, but there’s always a catch, some of which were so frustrating that Harry almost gave up looking to leave his mother's nest at all--seriously, is it even legal to request medical records or restrict visitors to once a month just to live in a flat?

He doesn’t want to bother her responding to every single one of her messages saying “love you” constantly but never saying he's happy with what she’s shown him, so he tells her he loves her on the phone every couple of nights, lets her know he’s really appreciative of her help without saying he’s too picky for what is reasonably within his limits.

This, however… Harry thinks he must be dreaming. He hasn’t done anything all day, he’s been sitting on the couch watching old rom coms in his stained sweats, truly enjoying his day off to the fullest. An offer this good can’t just fall onto his lap now, it’s supposed to happen at work on a boring day at just the perfect time to lift his spirits back up after writing about another terrible injustice somewhere in the world.

But here it is.

_Niall Horan, 24, sound engineer seeking roommate of similar age (preferably male) to share rent. One bedroom + reception and kitchen flat, Walthamstow near Blackhorse Road. around £500 per month._

_email tommo91@gmail.com w/ a pic of yourself, age and job info for more information_

_serious inquiries only!!!_

Harry backs out of the site and climbs off the couch to find his laptop--he feels more official sending emails and doing work from his computer; there’s too much room for error on his phone, and god forbid his serious, totally professional email is somehow tagged _sent from my iPhone._ That would just about give him a heart attack.

Harry stumbles, of course he does, because his left leg has gone numb from being sat on all afternoon, and whilst slowly hobbling towards his bedroom, hissing and wincing at the pins and needles shooting up his leg, he does end up sending an email back to his sister.

“It’s perfect,” he writes, and at the bottom puts, “love you most.xx H”

Once Harry’s pulled his laptop from the tan leather satchel he totes it to and from work in, he pries it open while making his way toward the bathroom. He shuffles in awkwardly, kicking the door closed behind him while balancing his computer on his arm. He instantly feels _wrong wrong wrong_ when he sits his laptop down on the countertop, knowing and feeling full well that this object does not belong in this room, but he doesn’t quite listen to the voice telling him to rush back to his room as he types out a quick response.

_Re: Man Seeking Roommate_

_Hiii, I’m Harry Styles, also 24. I’m currently a journalist near Manchester but I’m looking to move towards London. Walthamstow is exactly where I’m looking to be. I would like more information on your listing. Please be in contact._

_Thank you. H_

It honestly takes Harry longer to decide what picture of himself to attach to the email than it took for him to write up the required information. He’s a bit puzzled as to what a sound engineer might want to see, so instead he attaches two pictures--one of him standing alone, stoic, with his arms folded behind his back, in black and white, and another of him smiling in the same position, only this time his sister’s arm is in frame, tickling his side to get him to laugh. Harry doesn’t spend too much time analysing pictures of himself, but he feels like these two might leave a good impression. He can be both serious and playful, if that’s what a Mr. Niall Horan would like to see.

Immediately after clicking the send button, Harry makes toward the shower and turns both the hot and cold taps on just enough to get a nice, warm middle ground. He strips down quickly, throwing his t-shirt, sweats, pants, and socks into the hamper in the corner, before looking back to his laptop to see if Niall has responded yet. (Of course he hasn’t, of _course_ not, it’s only been a few seconds or maybe a minute, but Harry can still hope.) He fiddles with the settings on gmail’s web-page for a bit to turn notification sounds on, volume up all the way, so that if a message comes through he’ll be able to hear it over the sound of running water.

Harry pads across the bathroom carefully so as to avoid the awkward sound of his feet slapping the tile (he doesn't like that sound: it reminds him of the noise he makes on nights he spends alone and besides that, he doesn’t want his mother overhearing and thinking he’s doing something else, especially if she ends up catching him leaving the loo with his laptop in hand). Harry climbs carefully over the lip of the tub and into his shower. He hums as he drags his hands through his hair, scratching at his scalp and letting the curly ends straighten between his fingers, hanging limp in the water after. A strand lays across his forehead, curling down just beneath his eye when he hangs his head, letting the water roll down his back. He’s happy with how long it is right now, he thinks. Not so long that he gets mistaken for a buff girl in dimly lit clubs anymore, but back to where his curls can take over and still cover his ears and the nape of his neck.

A noise startles him as his hand starts to slide down his chest, heading for his cock to relieve some of his pent up excitement and anxieties at finding a prospective flat. He bites his lip, stopping his hand between the laurels tattooed low across his hips.

_What could that noise have been, what could it--_

“Oh fuck,” Harry gasps, throwing the shower curtain open, already stepping out before it’s entirely out of his way. His foot gets caught on it, of course, and he takes the whole damn suspension pole and curtain down with him with an awfully loud crash, but his laptop, safely on the counter, does nothing but wait for him to interact with it.

Harry untangles himself from the white plastic sheet and wrings his hands on the fluffy hand towel beside the sink before carefully approaching his laptop, making sure his hair doesn't drip water onto the keyboard.

_Hiya Harry,_ the incoming email reads, _you seem like the perfect candidate. I don’t care if your messy or snore or anything just need someone to keep me company and spilt the bill. if that’s you let me know, you can move in as early as next week. i’ve attached some pictures of the flat so you don't have to drive all the way out before move in. let me know._

It’s _really nice_ , honestly--at least for the price he’d pay, it is. There’s a big, wide, L-shaped black couch tucked into a corner against a wall of brick and a wall of windows. Another photo shows the door to the bathroom, Harry assumes, (closed with a light on under it, he notices, and he wishes he could see the inside) and beside it is a large tv mounted to the wall. There’s another angle with what Harry assumes is the black couch in the bottom corner but there's also a flash of white so he isn't sure, but the focus of the picture is the sleek black and white kitchen. It’s not huge, but it looks like it was updated within the last five years, and there’s plenty of space to move between the benchtop on the back wall and the long sit-in island stretched before it. There’s no picture of the bedroom, though, and truly only having one bedroom is the downside to this arrangement, but Harry’s slept in bathtubs during his time at university so really that couch wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe he could get a bed and hole up in a corner of Niall's bedroom like American university students do.

_I’m more than interested,_ Harry types. There are some red flags in his mind associated with moving in blindly without visiting the apartment in person, but Niall seems relaxed enough, and the pictures were clearly hastily taken (without so much as moving his knick-knacks and belongings out of sight) and not professionally staged, so Harry’s fairly certain he’s not walking into a trap. _Let me know the time and date and I’ll move in._

Harry has to fight with the shower curtain to get it to hang again, and then he has to towel down the floor where water has been pooling since he got out of the bath, but then he has a celebratory wank that leaves him seeing spots and also a little weary in the pit of his stomach.

x

Harry’s mum, is, well...less than thrilled to hear the terms on which he’s moving out, and even though she tries to hide it behind a smile and a warm hug, Harry can see her resolve wavering, can tell she must have held onto some hope that she’d get to keep her baby in her home for just a while longer.

“I’ll be okay,” Harry promises her, keeping a tight grip across her shoulders as they embrace. He lays his cheek atop her hair and lets the weight of his head squish his cheek until his lips purse out. “I’ve been here long enough, yeah? I bet you’ll love having some peace and quiet around here. It’ll be like when I went to uni all over again.”

(He doesn’t mean it. They both know he won't be trekking back every other weekend to cuddle with his mum instead of binge drinking just because all of his friends are. He’ll only be a phone call away, sure, but he’ll also be almost four hours and 300 kilometers from home at the same time.)

“I missed you then and I’ll miss you now,” she admits, and though Harry is several inches taller than her, he feels small again and safe.

“I’ll always be your baby,” he mumbles.

“That’s right.” It sounds watery and unsure and Harry has to bite his lip to stop from crying.

“Okay,” Anne says a moment later, releasing her grip around her son’s waist. Harry reluctantly releases her shoulders, and when they see each other’s red eyes, they both laugh.

“No cryin’,” Harry says first, fumbling with his hands at his sides as she wipes at her eyes.

“You either, mister. You’ve got some packing to do.” They share a tender smile, and Anne pulls his face down to plant a big kiss on his cheek that he can’t even pretend to dislike.

Harry only packs for a few minutes before the tears really set in, so he pushes his suitcases aside and spends the rest of the evening in bed.

x

Harry’s visited Walthamstow once before when staying with a friend of a friend back in his uni days, and it’s somehow both the same as he left it and also new and exciting at the same time.

The flat-- _his_ flat--is in a fairly new neighborhood that apparently used to be nothing but large houses. There’s no room for houses now, not with large gardens and room for kids to play, and while Harry does suppose he’ll miss being able to walk out barefoot into dewy grass early in the morning, he supposes he’ll find something new to like living here.

The building is brick on the outside, only three stories high, and his new flat is tucked up in the farthest corner. He takes the stairs--black and sturdy and in the center of the ground floor foyer--up to the very top to find the right flat. There are only three other doors in the hallway, he notices as he slowly walks through, looking for the door marked 312, so he bets that it'll be easy to get to know their neighbors since there aren't too many. The door, when he finally finds it, is black unlike the others he's seen which are painted a gaudy red, and Harry actually quite likes it. He wonders if Niall is the one who painted it and who updated his flat or if maybe it was a previous tenant.

The door suddenly opens as Harry’s about to raise his hand to knock, and a brunette with striking blue eyes sticks his head out.

“Aye? Ah, lad! You must be Harry,” he steps out fully, offering his hand to shake. His eyes crinkle and squint naturally as he grins. His hand is little but his grip is firm--not that it really matters, but...it’s interesting, is all. The guy instantly reminds Harry of a small dog who thinks it's large.

“Yeah, I am. Nice to meet you, Niall.”

“Niall? Oh, no. Oh no no no,” he chuckles, “I’m not Niall, I’m his mate Louis. Niall’s at work right now off in London somewhere and I’m going to help you get settled right in while he’s away.”

“Oh,” Harry nods slowly, swallowing a lump that forms in his throat. “So you’re...tommo91, then? The one I’ve been emailing?”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles again, hand reaching out to clap Harry’s shoulder and draw him into the open door. “Come on, lad, don’t be shy. I’ll give you a little tour before we get your things brought up, how about?”

“Okay,” Harry agrees out of necessity--he’s being pulled by a firm grip that leaves him leaning down like a dog on a lead so he doesn’t have a choice but to go inside. It’s not his ideal predicament, really, but it could be worse, things could be--

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it’s nice, huh?” Louis finally releases his grip on Harry’s shoulder once they’re in the middle of the room. He crosses his arms triumphantly as though showing off a great conquest and Harry is more than a little confused.

“There’s, uh… has there been a mistake?”

“Mistake? Not quite, no, this _is_ the place in the listing and the photos I shared with you.”

“Yeah but the listing said there was one bedroom--”

“And this _is_ a bedroom,” Louis says matter-of-factly, pointing to the bed with its headboard against the middle of the longest wall in the apartment, “and also a living room,” he gestures toward the couch in the far corner, “and also an office,” his gaze shifts when he points to a sleek, black desk so close to the bed that it serves as a nightstand, “and it all blends into the kitchen, it’s lovely.”

Harry glances at the kitchen in the corner just past the “office.” It’s the only thing in this place that looks like it could be its own room.

The lump in Harry’s throat is almost too angry to be swallowed anymore, and it brings with it the beginnings of tears in his eyes.

“Am I being tricked? I mean, you’re not the person who lives here, and this is a _studio_ , not a one bedroom flat. There’s not really room for two of us--”

“Sure there is, Haz--can I call you Haz?” Louis claps his hand on the back of Harry’s shoulder once again, settling into a grip like one his father would give him for only for a moment, almost like he’s associating the touch with the new nickname. “Don’t be put off by it, I used to live here with our friend Nialler. He’s a great roommate, really, and there’s no way you can be a worse housemate than me, so you’ll get on just fine!”

“But where do I sleep? And where are my things gonna go, there’s no _room_.”

“Of course there is, don’t be stupid. See, just over there,” Louis points to an empty space between the end of the couch and the side of the bed that _doesn’t_ have a desk/nightstand, “can put in another chest of drawers to put all your clothes in and sit some of your things on top--” he shifts his focus to a corner between the end of the couch and the corner of the room that’s likely hidden whenever the loo door is opened, “and over there you can put in a lamp or something. Maybe a stack of boxes, who knows!”

“I don’t think I should--”

“Lad,” Louis sighs, turning towards Harry fully. The tone of his voice is softer now, and his eyes don’t have the same glint as they had before. “Niall really does need a roommate, I can assure you of that. Now I know it may seem like he isn’t expecting you, but he’s a very busy lad--he’s done nothing but work his life away lately, he’s had no time to prepare, which is why I’m here as the welcoming party.”

“It’d be _really_ fucked up if this were a trick, you know,” Harry says, narrowing his eyes. He rubs his fingers against his damp palms, hands dangerously close to curling into protective fists.

“Wouldn’t it be?” Louis agrees, smiling unbothered. “Good thing it’s not. C’mon, how much’ve you got? Let’s get it all moved in before Nialler gets back. He’s got shite knees, that one; shouldn’t be going up the stairs so much.”

Louis walks out the front door as he speaks, leaving it to idly swing on its hinges until it finally clicks shut and Harry is alone for the first time. He turns slowly, taking in the white walls, the dark hardwood floors, and all the matching furniture between. It didn’t look inviting at first, but he starts to notice little things--a guitar leaning against the arm of the couch and picks scattered all over the rectangular ottoman that doubles as a coffee table; an assortment of books, clearly well loved, neatly in a row on the desk, held up by two black based, glass pyramidal bookends on either side. There’s a closet beside the front door, and since it’s open, Harry peeks in and sees it half filled with clothes, all neatly organized by type--t-shirts, jumpers, coats, and on--and somehow it puts him at ease.

x

Harry thinks himself to be good at packing, and while that means he and his cousin and Louis make fewer trips to and from his cousin’s truck, it means the boxes are heavy as _hell_.

“What the fuck do you have in here, mate?” Louis asks, struggling to climb the last of the stairs, “and why doesn’t this building have a _fucking_ elevator?”

“Journals and books, I think,” Harry pants, “should have said something sooner, we could have traded. I’ve got bed linens and trousers.”

“I’ve got shoes,” his cousin pipes up and Louis shoots Harry an incredulous look.

“You’ve got a whole box of shoes?”

Harry shrugs.

“They’re nice shoes.”

x

His cousin leaves as soon as the last box is piled up in the entryway of the flat, and Louis wastes no time in ripping open a box.

“Let’s get this shit sorted then, shall we?”

“Oh, you don’t have to--”

“Sure I do,” Louis pauses and smiles kindly, halting Harry where he stands with hands reaching out, before sticking his arms deep into the box and pulling out a stack of jumpers.

“You know what?” he asks, going towards the closet. “Why don’t you--” he drops Harry’s clothes at his feet in the doorway and digs through his pockets. Harry wants to say something about the floor being dirty, but Louis’s already crossing the room, pushing a lone key into his hand. “--go out and buy whatever you want in the way of food. Niall’s not got much. I’m probably gonna be out of here by the time you get back, so just use that to get in. There’s a train station around the corner and a Tesco just out of the first stop south. Not hard to find at all.”

“Oh. Well… okay.”

“Right lad,” Louis smiles again, turning on his heel to go hang Harry’s clothes. “Oh, and if you wanna get Niall on your good side, don’t be afraid to pick up a bit of guinness.”

Harry does. Get the guinness, that is. And a few other things, but not too much. He doesn’t want to struggle to carry it all on the train and he’s sure Niall has more than Louis makes it seem like.

While walking towards his door, Harry slows his step. There are voices drifting down the hallway from inside, and at first he thinks it could be a neighbor’s telly or a couple having a row, but then he realizes they’re not just any voices, but Louis’s and someone else’s _yelling_.

“You realize you’ve probably just fucked over some random dude, right?! Like, did you even _consider_ what this was going to do to them? This isn’t just some fucking _prank_ , Louis!”

“You need a roommate, Niall! You can’t afford this place without me--”

“Then why did you fucking move out if you know that?!”

Harry’s heart is pounding in his chest so hard that he swears he can hear it. He carefully treads closer to the door to listen when their voices get lower, but it’s just muffled noises and then--

“ _Fuck_.”

One of Harry’s plastic bag splits, dropping bananas and avocados on the floor. He drops to his knees quickly, trying to scavenge everything together into his other two bags and make an escape, but it’s too late.

“That’ll be him now then,” comes Louis’s voice from inside the flat and then the door is opening right before Harry’s face. He feels like he could throw up; really, honestly, truly, if he looks up at Louis and _Niall_ , he might vom all over one of their shoes.

“Harry!” Louis cheers, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “Perfect timing. Niall, here’s your roomie, this is Harry. Harry, this is Niall.”

Harry braces his palms flat on the floor as he takes a deep breath and rises to his feet. His whole body jitters in fear of what Niall’s going to say about his clearly unwelcome presence.

“Hi, Harry,” Niall sighs, shoving Louis out of the way to come forward. Harry finally looks up and Niall doesn’t look angry--not really. His face is red and his brow is still a bit furrowed like he was just yelling before--because he was--but he must see the terror on Harry’s face because his expression softens instantly.

“Um… so, how long have you been out there?”

“Few minutes,” Harry mumbles, glancing between Louis and Niall. “Look, I can jus--”

“Why don’t you come in? What’ve you got there?” Niall opens the door wide enough for Harry to slip in past himself and Louis though it takes a few seconds of hesitation for him to actually force his feet to move.

“I, uh… guinness,” he decides, “and some food.”

“Think I need me a fuckin’ guinness right now,” Niall mumbles. It’s quieter than when he speaks to Harry so he isn’t sure that he was meant to hear it, but it wasn’t nearly quiet enough to be hidden in the tiny one-room flat.

“They might be a bit warm from being on the tube for a while but hopefully not too bad.” Harry doesn’t usually talk when he’s nervous, he usually paces or goes for a run to work off the anxiety, but if guinness will make Niall let him down easier, Harry will sit and chat with him until he’s too drunk to kick him out.

“Thanks,” Niall says with a tight-lipped gesture that isn’t quite a smile, but at least some sort of positive affirmation. Harry turns and watches as Niall walks around the island into the tiled area of the flat (the “kitchen” if only it were a separate room) and pluck a bottle opener off of a hook on the back wall. There are lots of other things hanging there as well, Harry notices, all black things like spatulas and whisks, and they’re organized from shortest to longest.

“So, um… was I like, not invited? ‘Cause Louis said,” Harry gestures over towards Louis who is watching the two of them with a smirk on his face--the thought dies in this throat as it dawns on him that Louis is most _definitely_ a troublemaker and he should have paid attention to the red flags he’d seen in his mind the first time they spoke.

“I can just go if you’ll give me a few hours to arrange a ride,” Harry adds, quieter now, turning back towards Niall, “I’m from Cheshire so I’m a ways away from home…”

“I’m really sorry,” Niall sighs, and when he makes eye contact, Harry looks away towards the window that overlooks the street below. The sun is just starting to set, and the light coming in makes Harry’s eyes hurt--maybe if he starts tearing up, he can blame it on that.

“You can stay for awhile, if you want. I know it’s hard to find a place out here, and I’m so sorry that Louis’s a fucking _arsehole_ ,” Niall spits, aiming his anger towards Louis who does nothing but smile wider, “but _I’m_ not and I don’t want you homeless or whatever so… you can stay just long enough so you can find a new place, yeah?”

“Good lad, Nialler,” Louis nods, giving him a thumbs up like he’s done some great charity. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then. Treat him well, Harold, and he’ll stop being so uptight!”

“I’m not fuckin’ uptight,” Niall grumbles against the rim of his bottle as Louis closes the door behind him.

And then they’re alone.

“Are you serious?” Harry asks. His voice cracks and he clears his throat. He’s turned to face Niall, but the island is still between them. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s gripping the counter, but Niall, on the other hand, is casual, leaning his hip against the wooden doors and stone top behind him like it was just another day.

“Well, I mean, yeah. Wouldn’t have said it if not so, mate. I’m a man of my word. And _unfortunately_ ,” he adds softly, rounding the island again, “sometimes also of Louis’s word.”

“I’ll try to find a place as fast as possible,” Harry promises, following as Niall goes to the couch on the opposite side of the room, “and I’ll still help you pay rent this month since I’m here. You have no idea how much I appreciate this, I was so _scared_ \--”

Harry cuts himself off when Niall laughs so strong and proudly that he leans forward like he’s collapsing in on himself where he sits.

“Oh, trust me, I could tell you were scared, mate,” he smiles up at him before patting the couch as an invitation to sit down. Harry keeps a good foot or so between them, leaving both of his feet on the floor even though, in his experience, that is neither the most comfortable nor the least awkward way to sit on a sofa.

“We’ll make it work for now, Harry,” Niall says seriously then, nodding to himself as he raises the bottle to his mouth again. “Don’t worry about it.”

Harry looks at Niall, trying to read his expression. There’s nothing malicious about it--nothing that says _I don’t want you here, get out get out get out._ It’s not exactly the most inviting look--one of contemplation, rather, like he’s considering how long to let Harry stay before telling him he's overstayed his welcome; if they’ll get along, if he’ll trust Harry alone with his things--but it’s better than Louis’s smirk which makes Harry sick to think of, so really anything will do.

“I’ve gotta shower,” Niall says a few minutes later, finishing off his drink. “Make yourself at home, the remote for the tv is on my desk over here,” he says as he crosses the room to throw the glass bottle away--Harry thinks he should recycle it, but he bites his tongue and doesn’t say anything out of fear that Niall would be annoyed or unhappy with his comment.

“I’ll just be a few,” he adds, shaking Harry out of his thoughts.

“Okay.”

Niall gets a change of clothes from the closet where he’s clearly--but thankfully only briefly--shocked at the clothes hanging in the previously empty spaces, and on his way out, he brings the remote to Harry instead of leaving it where it was.

“Thanks,” Harry says, and he ends up holding it, staring at the spot Niall was in until he hears the bathroom door close and the water in the tub start running.

Harry springs up from the sofa, leaving the control on the empty cushion, and crosses over to the kitchen--aka the farthest point from the toilet--and sits down on the tiled ground, using the island as a shield to hide himself from the flat and the flat from himself.

He calls Anne.

“This was a bad idea,” he opens with, “this was so fucking stupid, I shouldn’t have--”

“ _Harry_ ,” she sighs, “First, you know I don’t like curse words, and baby, you’re fine, this is part of growing up.”

“No, mum,” he whines, and he doesn’t bother covering up how pathetic he sounds. “The guy didn’t know I was coming, his friend set up the listing as a joke or something, I’m not even supposed to _be_ here!”

“Oh, my _baby_ ,” she coos, “I’m so sorry, Harry. Is David coming back to get you? You know you’re always welcome here as long as you want.”

“No,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “I’m gonna stay… I dunno how long, but Niall said he doesn’t wanna kick me out and he’ll let me stay until I find somewhere else.”

“Maybe things will work out, honey. This is just another thing for you to write about, yeah? You’ll make it through, darling, I know you. Don’t let it get you down. Start searching for new flats, maybe even have a walk around the neighbourhood and see if you can find anything. I’m sure you’ll find another place in no time.”

That’s the only answer that anyone could have given him, honestly, but it sounds best coming from his mum.

She’s in the middle of saying something else, something a few minutes later after she’s started a tangent on their cats to take his mind off of his situation, when Harry realizes the shower has turned off.

“I’ve gotta go mum, I love you always, bye bye,” he gets out at once, quickly scrambling to his feet just as the bathroom door opens and Niall walks out with a puff of steam.

His dark hair is almost black when it’s wet, including the hair on his chest and the low part of his hips where his boxers meet his skin.

“What was that?” he laughs, toweling off his hair. His eyes shift and his smile falters a bit faster than normal. He’s suspicious, Harry recognizes.

“Oh, uh… I was, um… talking to my mum… telling her what happened.”

“Oh, alright,” Niall smiles. “Yeah, well, my mum called me a couple of weeks ago to tell me she got a new dog ‘cause she thinks hers gets lonely when she comes over to visit me or go off to see my brother’s family. I didn’t even hear the dog’s name, I was just thinkin’ like… do dogs actually get lonely?”

Niall looks over to Harry before ducking into the closet with such a genuine, curious expression. A small smile twitches at the edge of Harry’s lips.

“I think so. Like, if they’re in a shelter or whatever, they get sad but when someone takes them home, they get all happy again. Guess they’re just like humans, but maybe not so, like...complex. Like…yanno what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods, coming back into Harry’s view dressed in leisure shorts and a plain tshirt, “yeah, that makes a lot of sense, actually. I think it’d be cool to name a dog something really normal,” he adds immediately, chuckling while he talks, “like call it Gemma or something.”

“Gemma?” Harry immediately perks up.

“Do you have a dog named Gemma?” Niall laughs, quirking his eyebrow up almost like he doesn’t believe it.

“No, my sister. My favorite person, kinda. Her name is Gemma.”

“Kinda?”

“My mum, too,” Harry says as way of explanation and shrugs self-consciously.

“That’s cute,” Niall replies, and there’s no sense of judgement, nothing teasing about it; just a genuine thought. “Mine’s probably my old man Bobby Horan. Great man, him. Always happy wherever you put him, can make friends with anyone--I get that from him, if you can’t tell. And he’s always been there for me and supported me.”

“Bobby Horan sounds like a good man,” Harry nods.

Niall’s smile--and he smiles a lot, Harry’s noticed--is megawatt, straight and white, and directed right at him.

“That he is.”

Talking to Niall is really easy, Harry finds out. They work on the rest of the guinness and watch golf (because Niall asks with such enthusiasm if he likes golf and Harry doesn’t have the heart to explain that it’s kind of boring to watch and he’s not very good playing) and talk about their families and themselves and what they do.

Niall’s 24 and Irish but has been living in london since he was 18, and he’s a sound engineer like Louis’s ad said, and though Harry’s not really sure what a sound engineer is or does, he doesn’t ask even though he’s sure Niall would be more than happy to explain.

He’s got one brother who has a wife and a son (who is _adorable,_ Harry might add, based on the pictures and videos Niall excitedly shared when Harry said he loves kids), but Niall doesn’t really get on with his brother as much as he used to but he doesn’t feel like explaining it. So Harry tells Niall that that’s how he is with his father and they don’t get along anymore because Harry just isn’t as his dad thinks he should be--and Niall says there’s nothing wrong with Harry even though he doesn’t know him, and it makes Harry feel nice. Niall already knows about Anne and Gemma (at least by name and that Harry adores them), so he asks questions and Harry talks about them for an hour.

They don’t stop smiling, and golf’s over long before they realize.

Harry can’t sleep, is the only problem he has that night. The couch was perfectly comfortable to _sit_ on, especially when Niall told him he could put his feet up on it, but laying on the couch? It’s a different thing altogether. It’s plenty wide enough for Harry, and it’s long enough for all six feet (or maybe 5 feet and 11 inches) of him, but no matter how he lays, the cushions and the support boards beneath them dig into his shoulders and his hips and it’s _miserable_.

Harry contemplates the bathtub, honestly. He really does, but when he goes into the bathroom, dragging his pillow and blanket along with him, he discovers Niall’s tub is an old clawfoot one with a big dramatic spout extending right where Harry’s head would need to go, and he doesn’t even wanna try to maneuver himself around the dramatic slopes on both ends to put his feet there instead.

So… well, there is a bed. It’s a queen or maybe a full, Harry doesn’t know the difference, but it’s clearly big enough for two people, and Niall’s in the middle. If he just...scoots over a _little_ bit…

“Niall,” Harry whispers, gently shaking his shoulder. “Psst… Niall. Niall, scoot over.”

He groans and lifts his head--Harry thinks he opens his eyes, but he can’t really tell in the dark.

“What?”

“Scoot over.”

“ _What_? No.”

“Come on,” Harry whines softly, kneeling on the side of the bed, nudging Niall’s shoulder with the palm of his hand.

“Go back to the couch, dude.”

His voice is thick and groggy and it’s hard to understand him when he mumbles into the pillow as he lays his head back down, but Harry doesn’t give up.

“Come on,” he whines, turning to sit on the little bit of space he can get. Niall moves if only to avoid touching Harry, and Harry takes the space, and takes it, and takes it until he has enough room to lay down on his stomach and sigh happily into his newly-claimed pillow.

In the morning, Harry’s tangled up not only in the blanket that he brought to bed, but also in Niall’s. They’re close to each other, _so_ close that Harry’s cheek is resting on Niall’s arm and if he had been drooling--and thank fuck he wasn’t drooling--it would have rolled down his arm and into the crook of his elbow.

Harry startles when he looks up to see Niall already looking at him. He jumps back quickly, pulling both blankets with him, and falls off the edge of the bed, landing on the ground (the empty space between the bed and the end of the shorter part of the L of the couch) with a loud thump and a pained _oof._

Niall laughs loudly from where he rests easy--albeit a bit chilly--atop the mattress. Harry groans, pulling himself to sit up while also trying to make sure he didn’t seriously hurt himself--no, of course not, he’s fine, just leaving the incident with a bruised ego.

“Are you alright, mate?”

“Yeah,” he manages, climbing to his feet. “Sorry about,” he shrugs slightly, gathering Niall’s blanket up in his arms and dumping it on the bed. It’s then that Harry realizes, as the corner of the duvet reaches out and lands on Niall’s hip, that the Irishman is wearing nothing but his pants even though Harry’s _sure_ he went to sleep in a t-shirt as well.

He turns away when his cheeks redden and starts towards the bathroom.

“Mind if I borrow a towel?”

“What, didn’t bring your own?”

“I did,” he defends, pausing to look over his shoulder. Harry’s t-shirt comes up when he braces one arm high in the door frame, and there’s no doubt that Niall’s eyes flick down to the soft curve of Harry’s hips and the dark ink of the tattooed laurels there. “But I’m not sure which box they’re in, and I don’t wanna dig through them all.”

It’s a lie. Harry knows they’re in the box with the bed linens, but it’s on the very bottom of the stack that blocks one of the three stools at the sit-in island and he just doesn’t wanna bother unpacking since he won’t be staying long.

“Sure,” Niall shrugs, sitting up. His skin is pale all over, from his cheeks, down his chest, over his soft belly, and especially on his thighs. He seems to glow in the soft light streaming in from the windows. Harry's quite pleased with it and wonders if Niall is too.

Harry turns his back and mumbles a quick thanks before taking a cold shower using Niall’s shampoo, which is Irish spring, to no surprise.

When he comes back out of the bathroom wearing nothing but one of Niall’s fluffy, white towels hung low around his hips, he immediately smells coffee and spots Niall across the room pouring himself a mug-full.

“Can I get some of that?” Harry asks, moving carefully so as not to slip across the smooth floor under his still wet feet.

“Sure,” Niall says, turning to watch Harry approach. He makes a sputtering noise when he tilts his mug towards his lip, and he sheepishly explains he burnt himself when Harry gives him a look.

“You called me dude last night,” Harry says while pouring the dark bew into the mug that Niall slides across the counter to him while running his tongue across his bright red mouth.

“Huh? When?”

“When I made you scoot over in the bed,” Harry chuckles softly, raising the mug to his lips. “It was a very American thing to say, wasn’t it? Don’t hear many people saying ‘dude’ around where I’m from.”

“Well, I guess I might’ve picked it up the last time I was there,” Niall admits honestly.

“You’ve been in America?”

“Yeah, Los Angeles. For work.”

“LA? Wow, that’s really cool; I’ve always wanted to go. What were you working on?”

“Ah,” Niall chuckles, looking into his mug. There’s sugar and cream in it, Harry can tell. It’s a caramel color and it hurts his teeth just to think about it. “I’m not really… well, I dunno if I can say, yanno? Because it’s not my album.”

“Oh?” Harry asks, quirking his eyebrows. “Who’s was it, then?”

“Can’t really say, either. Maybe when it’s out I’ll show you what we’ve done.”

Harry likes the sound of that and thinks about being around in Niall’s life whenever their mystery album is released. He almost doesn’t hear Niall ask if he wants the cream.

“Ah, no, but thank you,” Harry says politely, “I don’t like milk in my coffee.”

“You drink black coffee?” Niall asks, exasperated. “That’s fuckin’ _disgusting_ , mate.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry chuckles, defending himself. It’s a bit whiney, and he knows that, but it doesn’t bother him much. “Anyway, what’ve you got, for like, food? I’m hungry.”

“Uh… not much, honestly. Maybe some leftover takeout.”

“Takeout?” and it’s Harry’s turn to feign exasperation. “You’re joking.”

Harry turns to the fridge then, but any hope he had that Niall was joking is completely gone when he see the shelves are almost bare. It occurs to him that he should have looked in the fridge before he went to the store yesterday, but he was so flustered by Louis’s dismissal of him that he didn’t even consider it.

He’s regretting that now.

“I swear you’ve just caught me at a bad time,” Niall says, suddenly behind him-- _right_ behind him. Like, breath ghosting over Harry’s bare shoulder and he’s suddenly _very_ aware that he’s only in a towel.

“I usually have food; I’m a pretty good cook, too, but I just… I haven’t lately.”

“Somehow,” Harry drawls, closing the fridge door and turning around in his exact spot to be face to face with Niall, “I don’t believe you.”

“Wh-- you have to!” Niall laughs. His blue eyes are wide in what is maybe a small bit of offense but definitely a lot of amusement. Harry takes a second to count the flecks of gold around his pupils--two in one eye and one in the other, but there's more in the halo where the color shifts from blue to hazel--while he lets Niall think he's thinking of a comeback.

“Your fridge is pristine, Niall.” Harry draws his hands onto his hips and stares down at Niall until the latter's expression starts to turn to confusion. “Genuine! Spotless, like, no stains, no sticky spots, it looks like you have it here for decoration. How am I meant to trust a man with a clean fridge?”

“You’re taking the piss out of me,” Niall rolls his eyes, but the smile on his face stays. “What am I gonna have to do to prove it to you?”

“Cook for me. Conjure some food up and make me breakfast before I waste away.”

“I think you’ve got plenty of time before you waste away, mate.”

“Hah?!” Harry squawks indignantly, face screwing into complete shock and offense--on the inside he isn’t offended, though. Not when Niall’s laughing so hard his face is turning red and he’s clutching at his stomach.

“Yeah, well,” he says when Niall calms down, “ _you_ clearly haven’t got much longer there, Niall,” Harry motions towards Niall’s narrow frame, “Maybe _I_ should get some food into _you_.”

“You offerin’ to cook for me?”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugs. “How about,” he draws out the word ‘about,’ crossing his arms over his chest and weighing the pros and cons of his idea in his head. He doesn’t want to give off the impression that he’ll be staying long (since, though Niall has been nothing but nice to him, the fact of the matter is that he doesn’t want Harry to stay), but he also really thinks it would be nice if…

“How about,” he repeats, “we split the grocery bill, I’ll cook something for you, and you cook something for me.”

Niall, who has since moved to mock Harry’s stance of feet spread apart and arms crossed over his chest, looking pensively at the other bloke, breaks a smile.

“Sounds fair to me. How about you put on some clothes, we’ll get brunch, I’ll make dinner tonight, and you make dinner tomorrow? I’ve gotta go into work tomorrow afternoon and I’ll not have much motivation to do anything after I get in, so…”

Harry matches his grin.

“Sounds good to me.”

x

Harry might forget basic modesty when he gets dressed--forgets to takes his clothes to the bathroom or at least close the closet door when he drops his towel to step into a pair of tight, black briefs--but he doesn’t notice until he comes out, buttoning his jeans with his flowery shirt draped over his shoulder, that Niall’s sitting on the end of his bed, cheeks just a little pink, staring at the wall.

“You good, then?”

“Sorry,” Harry chuckles, shaking his shirt out as he slides it from his shoulder. “I’m decent.”

“Hardly,” Niall jokes, passing him as he draws the shirt up his shoulders and starts doing up the buttons. “Your tits are still out.”

“ _Haa_ ha.” Harry smiles to himself despite his sarcasm while shuffling until he’s in front of the mirror beside the door. Harry likes the shirt he’s got on, whatever color it is. It looked brown in the store, but it’s more green in this light, and Gemma always said it looked like baby poo but even if it is a greenish brown, it’s not ugly. The white flowers on it help, Harry thinks as he rolls up the sleeves, and the green leaves make the color look tolerable. If it were only this color without the flowers, he would have never bought it.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

Niall rounds Harry’s side and drops himself back onto the foot of the bed, unwrapping a pair of striped rainbow socks that he's retrieved from the closet after Harry's occupation of the space. Harry takes a second, observing Niall’s outfit--a simple white tee, dark wash jeans, and brown loafers--before he answers.

“I’ve got no idea.”

“What?” Niall’s head snaps up, bewildered. “How do you not know?”

“There are so many,” he chuckles, tracing a finger across the tail of the mermaid on his forearm, “and a lot of them are so small. It’s hard to tell.”

“Have you ever tried counting them?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods, making a face like _duh_. He gently kicks at Niall’s ankle when he moves next to the bed to ask him to scoot over a bit so he can sit down as well. “Gem tried to hold me down last Christmas but she kept tickling me so I kept squirming. And, uh,” Harry adds sheepishly, leaning over to roll his socks on, “it’s not easy to find all of them.”

“Oh my _God_ , don’t tell me you’ve got one on your arse.”

They both laugh then, Harry too embarrassed to say he was drunk and his friend had a tattoo gun and it just happened, and Niall because he isn’t surprised.

“I’ve gotten some covered up over the years, too, though. So like...those ones exist, but like...you can’t see them.”

“That’s real deep, Harry.”

Harry sits up to face Niall then, and somehow manages to hold eye contact as he stumbles through his next offer.

“You, uh… You can call me H if you want. For like, a nickname. I heard you and Louis--like, Lou and Nialler? If you want.”

“Alright, H,” Niall smiles. “Louis usually gives the nicknames, so we’ll see what he thinks if he comes ‘round again. Everything’s gotta be cleared with the boss.”

“Is he your boss?”

“He wishes he was.”

Harry chuckles.

“Well he called me Haz so I think H should be okay. I mean, where does a Z even come from in the name 'Harry’?”

They leave after that--Niall tells Harry that he does own a car, but it’s hell driving this time of day when they could just take the underground one stop. Harry tells him he doesn’t mind, it’s what he did yesterday.

“You know those cooking shows,” Harry begins when the train lurches forward and they’re both stood clutching poles, “where the contestants are given, like, 60 seconds to run around and get all their ingredients? Can this be like that?”

“Do you even know your way around this shop, H? Think you’d get nowhere in 60 seconds.”

“Heey,” he pouts, but Niall’s right. He pauses, looks out the window at the dark tunnel, glances around at the women clutching their purses and the men half asleep against the glass, then says, “I’d put up a good fight at least.”

Niall smiles. He looks around the train, too.

x

“Hey Niall.”

“Hey what?”

Niall’s got one wrist on the handle of the trolley and the other hand is grasping at his hip as he ponders the difference between two cuts of chicken. Harry waits, and he waits and he waits, until Niall _finally_ looks up at him, _finally_ wondering why Harry called his name.

Harry’s aware that the look Niall is giving him is very motherly and what Harry says next is very childish. He delivers the line with a smile anyway.

“Nevermind. I’m too _chicken_ to tell you.”

“Aw, fuck--” Niall scrunches up his face and waves one hand dismissively towards Harry, but he lets out the tiniest chuckle when he goes back to examining the meat. Harry notices.

He prepares another joke when they round the corner to the fruits and vegetables not long after the first. He waits, unassuming, until Niall draws close to where he’s standing and then:

“Hey Niall? Do you think I’m,” Niall looks up as Harry holds an ear of corn between them, “ _corn-_ y?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Niall rolls his eyes and turns his back, but Harry sees the smile on his face.

“You _like_ my jokes, don’t pretend you don’t.” Harry follows after Niall grabbing vegetables as he goes for his dinner.

“We’ve all seen those supermarket pun videos, H. They’re hardly _your_ jokes, now are they?”

“Well if you _know_ some,” Harry argues, “why don’t you _say_ some?”

Niall just rolls his eyes and moves on, grabbing a lemon as he passes by their stand.

“So what’re you makin’ for me tomorrow?”

“Well… I dunno. Do you like steak? I’ve got lots of vegetable sides but I couldn’t decide on steak or chicken.”

“Yeah, love some steak.”

“Great,” Harry smiles, “then we’ll have to swing back by the butcher, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” Niall shrugs, turning in that direction. Harry goes off ahead of him, now on a mission to find the best cut of meat, when Niall calls out.

“Oi, Harry. Wait, look!”

Harry turns. Niall’s got a shit-eating grin and he’s holding a--

“ _Orange_ you glad you came shopping with me?”

Harry laughs. Like, Harry has a _proper_ laugh, throwing his head back, sticking his hips out to balance himself; he grasps at his stomach as he lets out his cackle, and Niall is so surprised at how clowny the noise that he, too, laughs. (Seriously, with a voice as deep and slow as Harry's, Niall expected his laugh to be something more reminiscent of the laugh Cillian Murphy gave to his character in _Peaky Blinders_.)

“What the fuck is _that_?!” he gasps through his remaining chuckles.

“You know what,” Harry asks, voice strained and high as he wipes a tear out of his eyes. He points at the fruit beside Niall and says, “We’re a _pear_ of idiots.”

x

Niall sighs as he settles himself down on a seat on the train. “I wouldn’t usually,” he mumbles as Harry sits in the seat beside him despite the fact that there are only a couple of other people in their car. “But my knee is gonna give out on me today, I think.”

“Your knee?”

“Yeah, I’ve had knee problems pretty much my whole life. It’s shite, I’ve got the body of an old man… I had my knee fixed up a few years ago, but now the other’s starting to go. I can just feel it coming, it’s having all the same problems the other one had.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Harry says softly, nudging this thigh against Niall’s. They share a soft little smile and Niall shrugs, running one hand through his hair.

“It’s fine. I’m just… fine. Feel like I can’t really complain, yanno?” Niall’s eyes flit around the train, looking everywhere and then back to Harry’s own, wide and curious. “‘Cause I have, like… the money to fix it and a job that’ll let me have time off, so I’m just a twat if I’m complaining about it, you know?”

“I don’t think it makes you a twat,” Harry shrugs softly, watching as Niall breaks eye contact to make sure his groceries are still sitting between his feet where he left them. “Complaining is part of who we are.”

They both chuckle and Niall nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Sure.”

The ride isn’t long, but Harry realizes as the train slows down that his thigh is pressed completely to Niall’s and neither of them bother to pull away.

x

“Do you even know how to play?” Niall’s laugh cuts through the air louder than the sizzle of chicken in the pan or the telly turned on.

“Not really,” Harry admits plucking three chords he knows, and then several that he thinks sound nice but could just be rubbish.

“Yeah, well. I can tell.”

“Oi? And I guess you play then?”

Niall looks over his shoulder and chuckles as he watches the realization dawn on Harry.

“Right. Sound technician--”

“Engineer.” Niall faces the stove and turns the burner off. He can imagine the look on Harry’s face as he says,

“Sound what _ever_. Musician on the side. Yeah?”

“Something like that.” Niall frowns and bites any clarification back as he plates the chicken breasts he’s so slaved over. Niall thinks Harry must notice the sound of glassware clinking on the countertop and the cease of the sizzling of the chicken because the guitar thunks carefully onto the floor and Harry’s at the bar in a second.

“Vegetables?” he asks when Niall puts plated chicken in front of him.

“Just a mo.”

Niall disappears between the counters after he opens the oven door, reaching in with a mitted hand to pull out a tray of roasted veggies. Harry leans over, peering down to see the pale skin that peeks out between the rise of Niall's shirt and the firm line of his jeans--he shouldn't be, but he's too curious to stop himself. What’s a little peek at his roomie’s bum?

Niall shakes the tray as he stands to make sure the vegetables haven’t become stuck in place, and Harry sits back, mumbling his thanks as Niall scoops some onto Harry’s plate and then his own.

It’s good, it’s _really_ good and Harry lets out a dramatic moan when Niall asks how he likes it just as he’s taking his third bite.

“So fucking good,” he says, fluttering his eyes closed. The tops of Niall’s cheeks pink more from the sound Harry made than the compliment, and he takes this second to really look at Harry. He’d changed into grey sweatpants and a plain tshirt since they’d come back to the flat, and now he’s got his feet hooked around the legs of the barstool he’s sitting on. His left hand holds his head up while his right hand holds his fork, waiting for him to command another bite.

“I’ll be honest,” Harry starts after he’s swallowed; Niall glances at his own plate when Harry’s eyes open, green and something else up close, then looks at him again once he’s shoveled a few green beans and carrots into his mouth. “I’m a better baker than I am a cook, so maybe your meal is better than mine.”

“Still gotta try,” Niall nods, “‘Cause I’m expecting steak tomorrow and I’ll be real disappointed if you don’t deliver, H.”

Harry smiles down at his plate and nods too.

x

Harry manages to sneak his way into sleeping in Niall’s bed again that night “like some bloody dog” Niall mumbles under his breath when he notices. He’s just come out of the bathroom after a shower, the tv is still on but the volume is so low he can hardly hear it, and the only part of Harry not tucked under Niall’s duvet is the top of his head.

“Harry,” he whispers, but it’s loud and harsh. “Hey, bugger, get outta my bed.”

Not a single sign of life comes from Harry no matter how loud Niall talks or how hard--and really it’s very hard at all--he prods at H’s shoulder.

_No matter_ , Niall sighs. There are worse people he could share a bed with. He could make a whole list, really, and he ponders this as he turns the telly off, leaving the room totally dark besides the faint moonlight that gets in through the crack in the curtains. At least Harry remembered to close them before bed like Niall asked that morning when he saw they were open--Harry had said something about letting in the natural light. and Niall really couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that.

_Anyway,_ he thinks, tugging his side of the duvet free from where it’s tucked under his pillow, _Harry’s better than sharing a bed with Louis again; he kicks too much. And Harry’s better than his mam; that’s just weird at this age, not that he didn’t do it at Greg’s wedding to save on hotel costs. Dublin’s bloody expensive._

Niall falls asleep facing the kitchen--away from Harry--with the thought of never _ever_ sharing a bed with Liam Payne ever again. Too cuddly for such a hard boulder of a man.

And that’s probably what seals his fate, honestly. A good bit of karma to start the morning.

Niall’s alarm goes blaring at 7am, nothing but obnoxious, incredibly _loud_ high pitched beeps until he twists off his side and onto his tummy so he can reach over and actually, he’s stopped just short of turning all the way onto his belly because he realizes that there’s something in the way; something warm and solid and grasping onto his middle like he’s keeping it anchored, or maybe it’s now keeping _him_ anchored.

“Harry?”

Niall turns his head to look over, and sure enough, Harry’s arm--the one without all the tattoos, Niall notices--is wrapped around him. Harry’s face should be peaceful, he should be asleep, but instead he looks perplexed with his eyes drawn tightly shut and his eyebrows furrowed low.

“Turn it _off_ ,” he whines, turning his face toward the pillow as if burying his nose will help the sound go away.

“I’m tryin, H, I can’t reach,” Niall mutters back, moving again to reach for the alarm--an actual clock alarm--on his desk. He strains against Harry’s (surprisingly strong) arm keeping him tethered in place, and when he finally smacks at the top of the clock and the sound stops, he springs back towards the bed and drops his head into the pillow with a contented sigh.

He relaxes a bit, then, letting himself wake up and stretch out his limbs before trying to actually get up again. He must wait a second too long, he thinks, if he wouldn’t have stayed down for so long, Harry wouldn’t have just pulled himself against Niall’s back.

“H?”

“Hm.”

It doesn’t sound like a question, but then again, how does a question sound like a hum?

“H, I need to get up.”

“Five more minutes. You’re so warm.”

Funny that he should say Niall’s warm when really he’s spent most of the night without a cover. Harry’s bare skin touches him now, no blankets between them, pressed against his back and all the way down to their ankles where their legs have somehow recently become intertwined.

He _feels_ hot, all of a sudden. Like his face and his ears all down his chest is heating up and everywhere Harry touches him is _hothothot_ and he can’t take it much longer.

“Fuck off; you’re lucky I let you stay in my bed.”

He doesn’t _think_ he sounds harsh; didn’t mean to be, if he does, just needs to startle Harry awake a little more, is all, say something to really get his attention to see if maybe his normal, working brain would realize what he’s doing, how he’s touching up on someone he really doesn’t even know, but… Harry just sighs and rolls onto his back, drawing the blanket up over his face.

It stays there even when Niall leaves half an hour later with his guitar and one of Harry’s bananas for brekkie.

x

Niall means to tell Harry to stop sleeping in his bed--to put his foot down about it, really, ‘cause sometimes he will get Harry to fall asleep on the couch, but in the morning there’s hot breath ghosting over the back of his neck or a strong arm grabbing at his waist when he tries to get up.

He should mention that “look for a new flat” thing as well come to think of it…

He gets used to it, is all. He was pretty well used to it when Louis was here, aside from the, like… cuddling. Sometimes they’d share a bed if Louis really just couldn’t fall asleep on the couch, which was often after his mother had passed away and the couch felt too isolated and alone for him, but not much other than that.

Niall was used to having a flatmate, one who was gross and messy like Louis, one who was brash and crude but still kind at the same time, and the more Harry settles in, the more normal it feels, but at the same time, the differences are so clear between the two of them that Niall still finds himself surprised.

Like, the first time he comes in after a night out celebrating a hard day’s work with some friends. It’s 8am by the time he stumbles in the door, expecting Harry to be asleep because he’s pretty sure it’s a Saturday, or maybe just Friday…

But Harry’s not asleep, he’s completely starkers right in the middle of the clear space in Niall’s flat on his toes and his hands with his arse high up in the air.

“What the-- _fuck_?” Niall is so confused his words hardly come out, his eyes whipping back and forth from Harry to the wall in front of him because he can’t _look_ but at the same time… he’s _all there_.

Harry lowers himself onto his knees and straightens his back so he’s sitting on his legs, arse facing the wall, front facing Niall full on, clasping his hands over his crotch.

“Well. This was an odd time for you to come in. If you could just, uh,” Harry raises one hand, making sure everything is covered with the other--Niall doesn’t look to make sure it is--and whistles while twirling his finger. _Turn around,_ he’s saying.

So Niall does, he turns around and leaves the flat. He can hear Harry’s laugh--the real one, genuine and loud--through the door, and then a few seconds later the door is tugged open despite Niall’s firm grip on the doorknob.

Harry’s head pokes out and he grins at Niall, dimples and all.

“You can come back in. I’m decent.”

“I’m starting to learn that decent doesn’t mean a whole lot to you, H.”

“Heey,” he whines, “my cock and balls are covered up, that’s what matters, yeah?”

“Aw, _man--_ ” Niall makes a face like exaggerated disgust and immediately regrets it as he feels a pang through his head, not quite over his hangover yet. “I don’t wanna hear about your bollocks.”

Niall toes his shoes off and flops down onto his bed and is instantly aware of Harry hovering beside him.

“Have a fun night?”

“Mmm.” Niall’s face down in his pillow and doesn’t feel much like changing that.

“Could’ve told me you weren’t coming in. I was gonna order takeout but, like… I didn’t know when you’d be back so by the time I’d given up, it was too late, everything was closed.”

Niall peeks up at him then, just fast enough to see the conflicted look on Harry’s face as he fumbles with his hands, but then he moves them behind his back and turns away in an instant, and the look is gone.

Niall’s unsure as to what to say as Harry pads into the kitchen--fuck him, for making Niall feel guilty, first of all. He’s supposed to be moving out, anyway, but also… there’s just something about being thought about, being looked after, that makes his heart go soft and so he says “sorry, H, didn’t think of it; not used to having someone around.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, spinning Niall’s rack of K-cups--it’s actually a little hard to tell which ones are his anymore ‘cause the last time he looked, the only ones he saw were hazelnut and peppermint and things he just doesn’t drink.

“You could’ve _starved_ , Harry,” Niall says dramatically, rolling his eyes as he turns them back to the dark shelter of his pillow.

“You’re right!” Harry fake cries, and Niall smiles, “I almost _died_ I was so hungry!”

The little bit of guilt Niall feels is gone as the coffee pot gurgles and Harry sits at the foot of the bed waiting for it to finish, and unbeknownst to him, trying not to stare at the bruises on Niall’s throat.

x

“So,” Louis drawls, swinging one foot into the flat, then the other, moving fair distance in his large steps, but doing so very slowly. His arms are folded behind his back and the smirk on his face that he hardly tries to hide is reminiscent of the one Harry was met with on his first day here.

“You’re not moved out then? I’m surprised Niall kept you.”

“Well,” Harry rubs the back of his neck and lets the door swing closed, “I guess we just kind of… forgot about it. I haven’t been looking, if I’m honest.”

“No? I’m sure Niall just likes you. _Otherwise_ he would’ve gotten you out of his hair by now, lad.”

“How long did it take him to get _you_ out of it?”

Louis blurts out a laugh and claps his hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“You’re alright, ain’t ya? You’re alright. I guess if we’re keeping you, you oughta come ‘round sometime. Tell Niall that me and El are going on holiday, won’t be back for a few weeks.” Louis starts towards the door, grabbing an apple off the counter as he goes.

“When we get back,” he says before taking a bite. The sound is loud and clear, and seeing how dark red it is, imagining how juicy it must be, makes Harry want one as well. “We’re going out for drinks--the four of us.”

Louis leaves, and Harry realizes he took the last apple.

x

Harry’s coming back from the farmer’s market with a canvas bag full of apples--walking, because the market is only a half hour’s walk and the weather is nice for once--when he spots one of the last remaining proper houses in Walthamstow with its front door wide open. It’s an old style home, before they were all flattened and squished together; an _estate_ , really, and there’s a sign on the gate.

“Estate sale. Everything must go. Please come in.”

Harry reasons, first, that if it’s a trap, he could fight someone off. He’s a strong man, he used to work out _a lot_ , and while he hasn’t in the week since coming to London and the month before that when he was on holiday from work, he could still defend himself. He’ll even use the apples if he has to. He also considers that maybe not everything is a trap, even though with homes in this borough, he hasn’t had the best luck.

Harry goes up to the door slowly and listens for any warning signs. There’s nothing, though. Not a sound.

_It’s a shame,_ Harry thinks as he takes the single step up into the entryway, _that I never gave mum’s phone number to Niall. How’s he supposed to give my stuff to next-of-kin if I disappear?_

“Hello?” he call out, staying in the open doorway just in case somehow the sign outside wasn’t meant for this house (much like he wasn’t really meant for Niall’s flat, he thinks… dreads, more like).

“Someone’s here!”

A couple of people shuffle around in the next room, then a middle-aged woman with gray hair only at the sides of her face is making her way out of an arched doorway towards Harry.

“Hello, love,” she says, giving him a kind smile. He feels put at ease instantly; she reminds him of his mum, almost.

“Hi.” He smiles back. “Is the, uh, the estate sale here?”

“Yes, of course,” she nods, then turns half a step towards the rest of the house, holding her hands together politely in front of the middle of her torso, elbows bent past 90 degrees. “Feel free to look around, it’s mostly furniture at this point; anything you want, just name a price.”

Harry looks at the staircase that winds up to the next floor, then back to her and changes his gaze from wonder to appreciation.

“Thank you,” he says softly, afraid to hear his voice echo off the bare walls. He walks slowly then, only glancing at the kitchen and dining rooms before going toward the stairs. If he’s going to buy anything, it’s more likely to be a lamp or a chair from a bedroom rather than a dining table or a sofa from the parlor.

The walls are bare all the way up, and in some spots, the cream colored wallpaper gives way to shapes of white where pictures used to hang. _They must have been there for ages_ , he thinks, reaching out to touch the corner of an invisible frame almost as if to see if it’ll wipe away as easily as the pictures were taken down.

Harry’s aware that the lady who greeted him has followed him up the stairs--not impolitely, nor viciously, but rather, it seems, out of excitement for a prospective purchase. He wonders if many people have been in at all, and if not, where all of the personal items had gone had they not been sold.

Harry goes into the first bedroom he sees and he instantly regrets his decision to enter the house. Not because of a trap or anything bad, no, but because as soon as his eyes land on the old wooden desk in the corner, he knows he has to have it.

“Oh, wow,” he sighs in awe, sitting his apple bag down to avoid it swinging and hitting the regal iron handles on the drawers closest to him. There are two columns of drawers, one on either side of a gap in the middle for his legs to settle in if he sits down--there isn’t a desk chair, though, so he stands and runs his hands across the worn top, still smooth despite its years of use. It’s discolored in some places, the dark stain worn a bit yellow in a ring in a couple of spots and some general patches in others.

“That was my dad’s,” the woman chimes in softly; fondly. “His father made it for him when he was a young boy.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says.

“It’s yours if you want it.” He turns to look at the woman, and she smiles. He can’t tell if she really wants to part with it or if she’s only saying so to be nice.

“I couldn’t… I’ve got no way to move it. I walked here.”

“That’s no problem,” she smiles. “I’ll call my son ‘round, he’ll bring his truck. I’m sure the two of you could move it no problem.”

“Are you sure…?”

“Of course, love. I’ve got no place for it where I’ll be going anyway.”

It sounds a bit ominous, but her smile is still warm.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “Yeah, I… okay.”

They stare at each other for a moment, both sharing smiles, until Harry suddenly realizes his manners and quickly dives his hand into his back pocket.

“Oh, I don’t have much, but I can give you,” he says, pulling out his wallet and rifling through what few bills he has. “46 quid? I’m so sorry it’s not more…”

“Nonsense.” She gratefully takes the bills after Harry’s offered them toward her and folds them up before sliding them into the pocket on the left breast of her blouse.

“Would you like some tea, dear? I’ll ring my son now and it’ll only take him about twenty to get here.”

“That sounds lovely.”

Harry learns that her name is Paula but she goes by Polly, and the second voice coming from the parlor earlier is her partner, Janet. They’re in their 50s and Polly has lived in the house since she was a little girl, but after her mother passed away, the estate went to the bank and she couldn’t get it signed back over. Harry’s heart aches for her; he can see the pain on her face as she tells him her story, but he’s so endeared when Janet squeezes her hand and they look at each other like everything is going to be alright.

Harry wants a love like that.

Polly’s son arrives in thirty minutes rather than twenty, but Harry doesn’t mind. Polly and Janet are so sweet, and Harry feels comfortable with them, enough so to open up about himself and how he finds himself in town with a roommate--a fit roommate, he admits--who didn’t really know he was coming.

It feels nice to talk to someone who thinks it’s a funny story rather than someone who pities him like his mum or Gemma.

Polly’s son’s name is Josh, and Harry quickly learns he’s not a conversationalist. The only thing he says to Harry in the time they’re together is “one, two, three” before picking up the desk upstairs, and when putting it back down in the bed of truck.

Harry kisses Polly’s cheek goodbye and thanks her for the tea and the desk, and he leaves feeling fulfilled like he’d met up with an old friend.

Josh is silent still on the way to Harry’s flat, and when Harry tells him they’ll have to go up two flights of stairs, he groans but doesn’t leave Harry to do it on his own.

Once they’ve managed to turn and twist it so that it fits through the front door, Harry leads Josh to the area between his side of the bed and the end of the sofa, and when they sit it down, it’s a perfect fit for the space.

Harry gives Josh the only cash he has left--a fiver tucked in his laptop bag for emergencies--for his help, and then he’s gone without a word.

When Niall gets home a couple of hours later, Harry’s already cleaned the desk with some natural cleaning solution that he researched for all of 15 minutes before trying--and it worked! The desk looks great--and he’s busying himself unpacking one of the boxes that still sits over by the closet since his move-in a week prior.

“Oi,” Niall says, eyes focused on the desk as he balances himself with one hand on the door while he kicks his shoes off. “What’s this then?”

Harry pulls the last of his books from the box on the bed and smiles over at Niall before turning away to stand them beside the rest.

“There was an estate sale just down the road,” he explains, “and I went in for a look around and there was no way I could have left without this beauty. It’s handmade, you know, by Polly’s grandfather.”

“Polly?” Niall’s voice comes from beside him now, and when Harry turns his head, he’s there in the space between himself and the bed, peering around Harry’s shoulder.

“The woman who owned the estate. She’s such a sweet lady; reminds me of my mum a little bit, actually.”

Niall nods slowly, eyeing Harry’s things over. Harry suddenly realizes what he might be thinking, that Harry’s overstepped his boundaries, overstayed his welcome by moving in furniture and unpacking his belongings.

He just… he keeps forgetting about moving out. Niall’s so kind to him and he never acts like he’s uncomfortable with Harry around, so it feels like he _belongs_.

“I, um,” Harry stutters, watching Niall scan over the titles of books across his desktop. “I figured if I didn’t get it now it might not be there anymore by the time I find another place. I would have asked you if it was okay, but I don’t have your number…”

“You don’t have my number?” Niall asks, looking up at Harry like he doesn’t believe him. Harry notices the height difference then when Niall’s chin tilts up and he squares his shoulders like he notices, too. It’s not a huge difference, maybe only three inches, but it’s still there.

“You’ve not given it to me, no.”

“I’ll do that in a mo,” he shrugs, “gotta piss. Nice desk, though. I don’t blame ya.” Niall turns on his heel and walks towards the bathroom, then, speaking as he goes. “How much did you get it for?”

“46 quid.”

Niall whistles in that way that signifies disbelief, and not necessarily in a bad way. Harry reads it as Niall being impressed--at least, that’s what he’d like it to be.

And that’s that, no blow up, no snide comment about Harry settling in like a stray cat even though Niall said he wasn’t gonna keep him.

It’s like Harry moving out didn’t occur to Niall either.

x

It’s not consistent smooth sailing, though. There are times when Niall thinks he might regret letting Harry stay with him. It’s not that Harry’s a bad roommate, but Niall has a way of life that he was used to with Louis and he was just beginning to get used to life without him when Harry came around and well… it stresses him out sometimes, is all.

Like this night in particular. He doesn’t mean to snap at Harry, but he hadn’t had a very good day at the studio. He had a concept for a song and he thought it was brilliant (if only he weren’t so modest, he would have defended himself when he was told it wasn’t) but no matter how he tried, the words wouldn’t find a melody and the sentiment he wanted fell flat.

It was frustrating.

And so when Niall comes home, he has dinner like normal, takes a shower, watches a bit of telly, and he’s in bed pretty early, reasoning that if he gets some rest and an early start tomorrow, maybe he’ll finally be able to write that tune.

But then it’s 11:07 pm, he’s been down for over an hour, and though the rest of the flat is dark, Harry’s got a lamp on at his desk and that one fucking light bulb is enough to cast onto the whole room. Even though Niall tries to stay on his side facing the kitchen, the light is too present. Usually he can hardly make out the shape of the rounded end of the island and the passage between it and the wall that leads into the rest of the tiled area, but now he can see it so clearly that he can count the notches in the wood grain.

Niall turns over and buries his face into his pillow, but it’s too hot and too difficult to breathe like that.

“Are you quite fuckin’ finished, mate?”

Harry looks startled when Niall lifts his head to snap at him. Niall looks more than a little inconvenienced.

“Sorry, I--”

“You know, it’s been a good few weeks and you’ve not found a bloody flat yet. Why don’t you get on that sometime maybe?”

Niall turns over again, back to the kitchen, to his side of the bed, and tries to work the furrow in his brow away once he’s lifted the covers over his head again so he’ll stop staring at the damn cabinets. It’s starting to get sore _looking_ sore. He hates feeling like this; he prefers much more to be happy or at least neutral with people, but sometimes it just doesn’t work.

There’s a click then, and through the duvet Niall can tell the room’s gotten darker.

The other side of the blanket raises, and Harry slides into the bed carefully, trying not to disturb the mattress too much so as to jostle Niall.

And then his arm is sliding over Niall’s waist, and Niall’s about to tell him to fuck off when Harry says carefully, “I’m sorry, Niall. I didn’t know it was bothering you. I’ll look for somewhere else, okay? Please don’t be angry with me.”

Niall doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t _feel_ like saying anything--not sorry, not “I’m being a prick because I’m annoyed at myself,” and not “don’t think I’m kicking you out.” He’s a little surprised, though, that Harry’s the type to say ‘please don't be angry with me’ as though he couldn’t live with someone thinking ill of him. (On second thought, he’s not _that_ surprised.)

He sighs, though, a calm sigh, one that sounds more like “it’s okay” than “I’m still upset” and Harry can tell.

Niall falls asleep pretty easily after that once Harry’s gotten restless on his side and turned onto the other so that he and Niall are back to back--literally skin to skin--and it’s warm.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, though, and it’s not unusual, he thinks. Sometimes it happens when he goes to bed earlier than normal. He realizes that he’s not back to back with Harry anymore, though. They’re facing each other, and when Niall’s eyes adjust to being open, he thinks Harry’s awake too.

“Psst.”

Yep, he’s awake.

“Psst… Niall. Are you awake?”

He responds in an equal whisper.

“Harry, I’m looking right at you.”

“I couldn't tell,” he pouts. His voice is a bit too low, too thick with sleep to whine, but Niall imagines that would have been his intent. “Maybe you sleep with your eyes open.”

“You been sleeping in my bed for almost a month, H.”

“You never know!”

“I think you do,” Niall chuckles. “I’m sure you’ve seen me sleeping.”

“Well,” Harry hesitates, smile slowly fading away. “Yeah. I guess I know you.”

“Yeah, well.” Niall’s voice is softer then, following Harry’s lead back to whispering.

“I know something else,” Harry admits after a moment of silence when Niall’s about to close his eyes, maybe turn over and go back to sleep.

“What’s that?”

Harry shifts a little, straightens his legs rather than having them half curled in front of him, and slides his hand up the sheet only to rest it under his pillow. He’s hesitating, it’s obvious, but Niall’s learned from many years and several relationships--both long term and not--not to rush things in the middle of the night.

“I’ve been looking at you for a while… and I want to kiss you.”

A few things happen to Niall as soon as Harry’s mouth closes, teeth on top of his bottom lip, visibly worrying over what he’s just said. First, Niall’s heart starts to pound--in confusion, anxiety, anticipation, maybe, because he almost expects Harry to just do it--and his mind begins to whirl so quickly that he can’t hear himself think. The predominant thought is _whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck_ , but as Harry draws his teeth back into his mouth and leaves his lip alone, fat and red from stress, Niall thinks that there are worse people he could be kissing. There may not even be that many _better_ he could be kissing. For a bloke, Harry’s very pretty with his soft looking hair and vivid green eyes and--and well… Niall would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about what it’s like to be with a man.

“Well,” he starts on a long inhale, and doesn’t rush to speak again until he’s slowly let the air back out. “I guess you might as well, like.”

Harry freezes, not that he was moving much anyway, but Niall notices him startle slightly, and his eyes look just a bit wider.

“Are you…? Yeah, okay, I--” Harry drags himself forward and closes the few inches of space between them before Niall can change his mind, and the hand that was previously under his pillow reaches up to cup Niall’s cheek. He hesitates, flicking his tongue out over his lips slowly, and rubbing his fingertips against Niall’s stubble. If Niall thought that he could speak without stuttering or his voice shaking, he would make some sort of quip about Harry feeling him up just because he can't grow his own beard.

But then they’re kissing and Harry’s lips are so soft compared to Niall’s whose are a little dry from breathing over them while he was asleep, and a little rough from chewing and picking at them when he gets nervous.

It doesn’t matter for long, though. Neither one of them backs away from the kiss, and it turns from an innocent press of lips to slow, lazy making out when almost at the same time, both boys get the idea to part their lips and lick at the other’s mouth. It’s Harry who does it first, though, but Niall would have within another few seconds if he hadn’t.

Niall’s heart starts pounding from action instead of anxiety when he stops being so nervous, so confused, about kissing Harry and just lets himself do it. He reaches out with one warm hand and grabs at Harry’s hip--not in any sort of suggestive way, just to hold the fat of his side and touch him in a way he hasn’t before.

Harry leans into the touch, moving his hand from Niall’s cheek to his waist and then his back, using him as an anchor to pull himself closer, pressing in more until Niall’s turning onto his back and Harry’s holding himself up above him, hips still to the side in case Niall gets freaked out and wants to stop, but chests crossed and brushing together when one of them pants or searches for a bit of air.

Harry’s the first to moan, to give any sort of hint that this isn’t going to stop here, when Niall’s teeth pinch at his bottom lip at the same time as one of his hands slides down Harry’s back until it rests in the dip of his spine just before the curve of his bum.

They both freeze for a second, and once the sounds of their lips and tongues moving together has ceased, they both realize how loud and labored their breathing is. Niall knows he’s screwed if Harry wants to stop ‘cause the sound he just bloody made went straight to his cock and there’s not a sly way in hell to go wank in the bathroom after making out as they’ve been.

Harry’s thinking just about the same, trying to find a way to apologize or ask Niall not to be freaked out, but he’s just getting really turned on and it’s hard not to rut against the bed when Niall’s mouth is making him feel so good.

“Reckon we should…” Niall trails off, tapping his thumb against Harry’s spine once. Harry can’t tell if it’s a call to move or if it’s just another flippant behavior of Niall’s, but either way he takes it is wrong.

“Yeah, I-- Sorry,” Harry sighs, starting to turn onto his side to roll back to his side of the bed when Niall stops him by holding firm to Harry’s back and reaching his other arm around to Harry’s side.

“No, I mean, like-- Fuck, I dunno.”

“Like… keep going?” Harry asks cautiously, giving Niall his best “tell me that’s what you want and it’s yours” look, otherwise known as a hopeful but unblinking stare with pupils blown wide from lust.

The sound Niall makes is meant to sound like “yeah” but it’s too breathy to really be anything as he raises his head to catch Harry’s mouth again.

Things move faster this time, and any reservations either of them had when they started are completely abandoned. Harry moves to lay between Niall’s legs, and when he feels Niall half hard against his lower belly, he moans again and shifts enough to press his own hard-on against the inside of Niall’s thigh just below his crotch.

Niall groans at the pressure of Harry against his cock and slides both of his hands lower onto Harry’s ass to encourage him to keep moving, guiding him forward and back a couple of times, only resting when he gets a rhythm that they can work towards together.

“Oh, god, fuck,” Niall gasps, jerking his hips up causing Harry to moan and move his lips to Niall’s jaw. He brushes his lips there, feeling the hair prickle on his lips, then feels it under Niall’s jaw down his neck until the hair stops and he can attach his lips to smooth skin.

“Don’t leave any marks.” Harry pouts and grazes his teeth across the base of Niall’s neck where it starts to curve down to his shoulder.

“Not even a little one?”

He flicks his tongue out of his mouth, tasting Niall’s skin, salty with sweat. When Niall doesn’t respond, he takes it as permission and presses his teeth in, sucking a small area into his mouth to make it sore and bruised. Niall groans and squeezes Harry’s ass with both hands, rolling his hips up at the same time to bring back the friction he’d lost when Harry slowed down to concentrate on Niall’s neck.

“Why do you do yoga naked?” Niall asks abruptly when Harry starts moving one hand down towards their underwear.

“It’s more fun. But you know,” he whines slightly when Niall lets go of his bum and moves his hands a little higher back to the dip in his spine just above the waistband of his briefs, “I've never seen _you_ naked.”

Niall takes a deep breath and hooks his thumbs into the back of Harry’s pants.

“Then today's your lucky day.”

Harry raises his head to look at him and gives him a cheeky smile before saying “more like tonight I'm _getting_ _lucky.”_

“Oh fuck off,” Niall lets out one quick, breathy laugh, then pushes the small fabric down Harry’s thighs as far as he can reach. Harry takes over from there, squirming and sitting up just enough to wiggle them down his legs until he can kick them off, and before either of them could even think of hesitating, he’s pulling Niall’s down too.

Niall is acutely aware of the way Harry’s eyes rake over his crotch, especially how his tongue peeks out of his mouth for just a second before he reaches down and wraps his hand around Niall’s cock.

Niall hisses at the sudden pressure of Harry’s thumb wiping over the slit of his head, closing his eyes and pressing his head back into the pillow. He grips onto the sheets as Harry speeds up, twisting his wrist just the right way on the upstroke to have Niall edging on an orgasm pretty quickly.

Niall opens his eyes again and raises his head just enough to see where his hand goes as he grabs for Harry’s dick to return the favor. He matches pace, slowing when Harry does, and speeding up at the same time.

“I’m, oh fuck, gonna,” falls out of Harry’s mouth not long after. His hips jerk forward and his shoulders rear up, whole body going rigid as he comes with a loud shout-like moan that would put their neighbors to shame. Niall works him through his orgasm, only getting a bit squeamish at the cum landing on his stomach not being his own.

“Fuck, fuck, I've got you,” Harry pants, licking his lips. He shifts onto his side beside Niall so as not to stick them together, which Niall is grateful for. He speeds up his stroke, his sweaty palm and Niall's precum making the glide smooth. He shamelessly stares down at the red tip of Niall's cock as it disappears and reappears between his hand. Niall doesn't give a warning like Harry did, instead he squeezes Harry's forearm and bucks his hips up a couple of times before he comes, spilling in Harry's hand and on his own stomach, completely indistinguishable from Harry's release.

Harry reaches up for a lazy kiss after Niall's dick starts to go soft and he's let go. Niall cuts it off pretty quick, though, getting up to shuffle towards the bathroom.

“Ah, fuck, _gross_!” He shouts at the feeling of cum rolling down his body. When he closes the bathroom door behind him, he closes out Harry's sleepy laughter as well.

Niall stands beneath a hot shower and takes great care in scrubbing his chest and stomach until his skin is red and sore and he can't feel the lines on his skin anymore or even the ghost pricks of sensations of where they used to be. Everything that’s just happened is whirling in his mind, and he tries his best to block it out, to focus on the sharp splash of the water streaming down around him.

When he comes back out of the bathroom later, towel wrapped around his waist (though he knows there’s nothing to hide anymore and he’s going to drop it before getting back into bed anyway), Harry’s taken residency on the wrong side of the bed, and he’s softly snoring into Niall’s pillow, so Niall huffs and sleeps on Harry’s side, not so minding when he finds out Harry’s pillow smells like raw mint.

The morning after isn’t nearly as awkward as Niall expected it to be. He didn’t think _Harry_ would be weird, of course not, but he was afraid that overnight he’d come to regret what he’d done and accidentally shut Harry out, but when Harry kisses the back of his shoulder when he tries to sit up to turn off his alarm--before realizing the alarm is on the _other_ desk because now he’s by the wrong one--he just chuckles and settles.

“Will you turn that off for me?”

“Sure.”

Harry’s voice is more gravelly than normal like he must have just woken up at the alarm with Niall though he usually isn’t phased by it at all.

He turns over and a couple of seconds later, the shrill noise stops. Harry rolls back over towards Niall and hugs his waist, laying his forehead against the back of Niall’s head.

“Your hair smells good,” he mumbles after a moment of silence as Niall lays still, the feeling of Harry’s arms sinking into his skin the way the realization of what he’d done last night did as well.

“Washed it,” he mumbles, turning slowly onto his elbow so he can start getting up. Harry whines, holding firm to Niall, but he lets go when Niall grabs at his arm--it’s a bit too firm, makes Harry feel like he’s about to be shoved off, which he’s not unfamiliar to, so he lets go quickly and backs up a little.

“Woah, sorry,” he mumbles. His voice is even and now wide-awake. Niall doesn’t look at him as he walks across the room to pick out clothes from his closet, but he can tell Harry’s staring at him.

“Nothin’,” Niall mumbles as way of explanation, shrugging off Harry’s look as he ducks into the loo to hide.

He gets dressed on auto pilot, pants first, then trousers, left leg then right, next his top, right arm then left to balance it out, and he even pulls his socks on while leaning against the sink instead of sitting at the end of his bed.

Niall rests his bum against the counter and braces his hands on either side of himself, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Doesn’t really work, the silence in the room--in the whole flat--and the dark insides of his eyelids lend themselves to his thoughts.

_He’s fine, we’re fine, I’m--I think I’ll be fine... it’s fine, but is it? Does this make me gay? It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that, but how is this supposed to work? Are we just like… a thing now? Are we gonna be dating? Are we gonna talk about this?_

Niall grabs his notebook from his desk, slips his shoes on, and leaves the flat as fast as possible, leaving Harry on his bed, watching him, silent.

x

“Gemma, I think I did something bad…”

“What do you mean, baby brother?”

Harry pinches his phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he lowers himself into the empty bathtub, leaving his legs hanging out over the longest side so his back is against the other long side and his head leans against the wall.

“I should have called you earlier. He’s gonna be home soon so I’m hiding in the loo.”

“What did you do, Harry?”

Harry bites his lip and stares at his thighs, picking at a fabric pill on his joggers.

“We, um… last night… in his bed, we…and like, it was _good_ , for both of us ‘cause--”

“Enough! I get it.” Harry listens to her shuffle around on her end of the line, probably also going off somewhere private to have this conversation like they always do when they need each other.

“Okay,” she breathes after a minute, “what happened? After, like. Why do you think you did something bad?”

“Well… _right_ after, he went off to the bathroom to… clean up… and then, uh, he came to bed and I was asleep. But then this morning we were cuddling and he was fine at first, but the longer he laid there, I guess the more he…? I dunno… regretted it? ‘Cause then he got up and hid in the bathroom for ten minutes and then quite literally ran out of the flat right after.”

“Oh, babe…” Gemma sighs, and Harry’s ears prick at a sound in the hall outside the flat. He worries that it could be Niall, that he might have to cut the conversation short before his sister can give him some sort of reassuring words, but it can’t be. Whatever sound it was stops.

“I think, maybe…well. Is he gay, do you know?”

“No. We’ve not talked about it, like, at all. I’m not sure he even knew that I like blokes before.”

“Okay, well, H, maybe it scared him? Like, not _you_ , but you being a boy--him _being_ with a boy. Maybe he hasn’t been with a guy before and he’s trying to figure himself out. Give him a day or two, see if things are weird when he gets back tonight and into tomorrow.”

“Yeah, maybe…”

The front door shakes as Niall fumbles with the lock even though Harry hasn’t locked it since he left. He’s stalling, maybe. Maybe he’s been in the hall this whole time.

“Gem, he’s back. I don’t know what to do.”

“Just act like normal, baby brother. Do whatever you’d normally do when he gets in. Don’t think too hard about it, okay?”

“Love you,” he mumbles, listening to Niall’s footsteps cross the flat.

“Love you most. Call me tomorrow, tell me what’s up.”

Harry hangs up and holds his phone on his lap. Closing his eyes, he tries to center himself to calm down, to feel himself existing--his bum on the hard bottom of the tub, the ache on the bend of his knees where they’re hooked over the edge, the rhythm of his breathing.

“Okay,” he tells himself, struggling to get back up. He manages, lifting his ass while pushing his legs out to press his feet flat on the ground. He almost loses his balance, almost falls back into the bath, but then he’s standing, looking at himself in the mirror and he knows he can’t hide forever.

Harry goes back to the main room, spotting Niall instantly standing over the stove with a fork, shovelling a bite of baked chicken and cooked peppers into his mouth.

“There are tortillas if you want to make a fajita,” Harry says, making Niall jump and turn around, a green pepper hanging from his lips.

“Mm,” he hums, nodding, chewing, swallowing. “I’m sure, but I skipped lunch and worked late and I’m fucking starved, just want the good shit.” He turns back to the food, stabs another few pieces of whatever’s left in the pan, and asks “you make this? Fuckin’ good.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, smiling. “Thanks.”

The smile stays on his face, doesn’t go away, just settles into a soft, casual mark for the next couple of hours while they watch telly and Niall laughs and critiques Harry’s attempts to play guitar.

Things are alright. They’re better. They’re normal.

Well, maybe they’ve got a new normal.

When they get in bed that night, neither of them can sleep. They both toss and turn, trying not to bump into the other; when they’re facing together, at least one pretends to be asleep, and when someone turns their back, they can feel eyes on them.

It’s Niall who breaks first, groaning into his pillow at almost 2 am before facing Harry and raising up his arm. “Come here,” he mumbles, knowing that he will, and he does.

Harry scoots over, under Niall’s arm, and rests his own over Niall’s ribs, letting his fingers trace over his spine. Niall leans down and nudges his nose against Harry’s cheek and it’s no time before they’re kissing, before their tongues are slipping together, and before Niall’s turned Harry onto his back so he can climb on top and grind his hips down against Harry’s.

Harry gasps and moans when Niall bites his bottom lip, tugging at it just slightly as he rolls his hips down hard onto Harry’s cock and balls. It might have hurt if it were pushed much more--he can tell that Niall isn’t used to rutting on someone who doesn’t have a vagina--but the burn it gives Harry is hot, and he doesn’t bother stifling his moan against Niall’s mouth.

“Mm,” he mumbles, turning his head away when Niall tries to kiss him again. “Can I, fuck-- Can I suck you off?”

“Can you--?” Niall draws back and stills the rocking of his hips but leaves them pressed down, looking at Harry in bewilderment. “Uh, _yeah_ you can fuckin’ do that.”

Harry chuckles, giving him a lazy smile as Niall turns over and flops down on his back. Harry sits up and scratches his hand through his own hair, watching as Niall braces his feet against the bed, hooking his thumbs under the waistband of his pants before he’s shoving them down and kicking at them until they’ve fallen off the end of the bed.

Harry scoots down the bed, eventually settling himself on his stomach between Niall’s legs. He wraps his hand around Niall’s dick and gives him a few short strokes to test that he’s fully hard before leaning in and closing his mouth around the head.

Niall gasps, both at the pressure of Harry suckling at his tip and running his tongue in the slit, and also the shock of him having not hesitated at all before doing so.

“Yeah,” Niall sighs happily, fluttering his eyes closed and flinging his hands out to grab at the sheets while Harry's taking more of him into his mouth, hot and wet and with expert pressure.

Harry hums and looks up at Niall through his lashes, staring, expecting him to look back, but he doesn't. He stops, then, pauses and waits until Niall opens his eyes and looks at Harry with his wide, watery eyes and lips stretched around his cock.

“Oh holy fuck, Harry.”

Harry hums and if he could smile the way he is, he would, but he doesn't quite make it, so he starts bobbing his head to show his appreciation for the attention. Niall seems to get it and keeps watching, and when Harry reaches up for Niall's hand, he doesn't need much more directing than a simple relocation to tangle his fingers in Harry's hair.

Harry hums when Niall scratches his fingers through and moans when he pulls and has to close his eyes and slide one hand into his boxers to touch himself when Niall does both while moaning Harry's name.

Harry's done this before an uncountable amount of times but rarely does he lose himself in it the way he does now--only really happens when his partner makes him crazy like Niall does. Harry slurps and moans around Niall's cock, letting it slide as far as possible down his throat until it chokes him and even then he doesn't stop; he's leaning so far forward on his shoulder that he couldn't pull all the way off anyway even if he wanted to. So he chokes, he sputters, and he masturbates fast, feeling his orgasm riding up quick as Niall's must be as well if the strained sound of his voice and the squirm of his hips is anything to go by.

It doesn't take much longer for either of them; Niall yanks Harry's hair so hard that he's seeing colors behind his eyelids, and Harry's throat rubs the tip of Niall's cock so many times that he just can't stop it when he comes, groaning so loud that it almost sounds like some sort of animal growl.

Harry comes when Niall's load slides down and he gags one last time at the feeling of it coating his throat. He scrambles to sit up and let the cock out of his mouth while he rolls his hips and his ass to ride out the very last feelings of his orgasm.

When Harry finally opens his eyes, finally looks up at Niall from where he's now kneeling between his legs, one hand on his dick with his ass rubbing against the mattress, Niall looks well and truly _fucked_ and also something like awestruck.

“How the _fuck_ did you learn to do that?”

“Do you really,” Harry winces at the sound of his voice and the feeling of trying to speak. He raises his clean hand to his mouth and uses it to block any spit from flying out as he clears his throat a couple of times, then he tries again. “Do you really want an answer? Because I'm sure you could guess.”

Niall giggles, keeps fucking _staring_ at Harry and _giggles_ like he's a kid and it's a funny inside joke between them now.

Harry blushes and shakes his head, finally taking his hand off of his soft cock and out of his pants.

“Were you, like--” Niall starts then stops when Harry gets up, pulling his sticky pants off and using a dry spot to clean himself up.

“Hmm?” Harry looks over at him and raises his eyebrows when he's done, but Niall waves him off and turns onto his side.

“Nevermind.”

Harry doesn't press it, just gets into bed and stretches his back out.

The next morning’s not quite the same as yesterday, but it’s not the same as all the mornings they’ve had before.

“Do you ever wake up at the same time two days in a row?” Harry jokes, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He’s getting used to the sound now, and the feeling of Niall rolling away from him, so he’s started using Niall’s wake up call as one of his own.

Niall makes a noise and stops the alarm, and without Harry asking, he lays back down and presses his forehead against the back of Harry’s shoulder.

“Don’t wanna go in today. Can’t get past this bloody writer’s block, not getting shite done.”

“Could stay with me, then. I have very exciting days, you know.”

“Oh yeah? What do you even do? Do you have a job? How are you gonna help me pay rent, we’re due.”

“I have a job,” Harry laughs. “I used to work at a paper in Manchester, and now I work for a company in London. I write about social stuff--people, events, the like. I can do it from here, too; only go into the office when they ask me to.”

“I actually didn’t know that,” Niall admits, chuckling. Harry can feel his breath against his back.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve no idea what you do besides sit around _not_ writing songs.”

Niall barks out a loud laugh, and Harry breathes out a soft chuckle of his own, smiling fondly at Niall’s amusement.

“I write songs and I help make the music for them, produce them, and I sell them. I make lots of demos, write with lots of people. It’s fun, it doesn’t feel like a job, even when I can’t fuckin’ make my ideas real.”

Harry turns over and wraps one arm around Niall.

“Any song I might know?”

Niall smiles and rolls his eyes, moving Harry’s arm off of him as he sits up.

“Why don’t you take a look at the bookends and I’m gonna get ready to go out if you don’t mind.”

Harry furrows his brow and glances towards Niall’s desk at the peculiar bookends. They’re all black stone and clear glass--looks like a solid base, just a few centimeters high and square if you were looking on from the top, and then a glass pyramid extends out of the top so high it goes over the top of most of Niall’s books.

_American Music Award_ is printed at the base of the glass, and on a gold plate that Niall has turned towards the wall for some reason, it says _SONG OF THE YEAR, HELLO, ADELE._

“No fucking way in hell you wrote ‘Hello’!” Harry yells frantically, throwing the covers off to stand up while grasping desperately at the award. Niall laughs from within the loo and steps out without his shirt (and Harry takes a moment to admire the dark hair climbing his chest).

“I didn’t, not on my own.”

“You helped?!”

“Sure,” Niall shrugs, small, private smile on his face as he looks off towards the closet. “I’ve got a box of smaller awards, like certificates and plaques. I feel a bet weird displaying them all, but the two American Music Awards--I just couldn’t put ‘em up. They’re the best things I’ve ever done.”

“What’s the other one for?” Harry asks, carefully sitting down _Hello_ (plaque facing out, urging Niall to be proud of his accomplishment).

“Song with Ariana Grande.”

“Ariana Grande? Fuck, mate. You work for some high profile people.” Harry chuckles, picking up the second award that sits closer to the kitchen than the bed.

Niall chuckles but doesn’t say anything. Harry puts the award down carefully, again facing the plaque out to show it off, and turns around, bracing his hands on his hips. Niall’s cheeks are dark red and his head is dipped low.

“Aww, are you embarrassed?” Harry coos.

“No, fuck off, yeah?” Niall says, but he’s smiling. He goes to the end of the bed, shoes and socks in hand, but he freezes up when he sees their pants from the night before left on the floor.

“Well, uh,” he mumbles, and Harry watches the color drain from his face as he skips around the dirty laundry to find some other, cleaner spot to sit. “I’ll be back tonight, see you later.”

“Wait, Niall! I have more questions!” It’s too late, though, the door closes, and Niall’s bolting off down the hall.

Harry spends the rest of the morning doing laundry--maybe that’s why Niall froze up at that reminder of their night before; he’s quite tidy, maybe it was doing his head in--and listening to something Harry found on Spotify; a playlist created by a certain Niall Horan called “our songs!” that Harry can only assume is full of songs that Niall has writing credits on.

x

Things are… interesting after that.

Niall tells Harry about recording an album and what it’s like to tour--because apparently he himself travelled as Hozier’s opening act a couple of years ago!--and how he’s trying to write a full album to see if he can break out of just making the music, get to actually perform the music.

“It’s such a fucking rush,” he sighs wistfully, sinking into the couch. Harry stares, small smile etched into his face in admiration. “I bet you’d like it--you got a voice for it.”

“How would you know?” Harry squawks.

“I hear you all the time, H!” Niall laughs and shakes his head. “You can’t play guitar to save your life, though. Reckon that might be important.”

“Not _everyone_ plays instruments when they do concerts, Niall. I’d be a _performer_.”

Niall tries to suppress a laugh but it comes out as a spitting noise.

“Oh, yeah, you like to perform alright, don’t you?”

Harry gasps at the innuendo and punches Niall’s shoulder.

“Yeah and you’ve got a loud fuckin’ mouth, so no wonder we’re a great pair.”

“Great pair of idiots,” Niall laughs, and Harry joins in.

x

Louis and Eleanor get back from holiday and Harry’s been living with Niall for 7 weeks--been shagging him for 3 of those damn near every night--so Harry doesn’t expect what happens in the pub they go to for that drink Louis told him they were gonna get when he came back.

Harry doesn’t drink often--it’s not that he’s afraid of drinking or doesn’t like it, but he just doesn’t feel the need to go out and lose a night very much. When he does drink, though, and drink enough to get drunk, he gets very cuddly.

Louis and Eleanor are sitting on one side of the table, and Louis’ got his hand on her thigh innocently. Niall and Harry are on the other side of the table, and the longer the night goes, and the more Niall--actually it’s mostly Louis--gives him to drink, the more he leans into Niall, sinks low in his seat and ignores the rest of the room, just peering up at Niall’s reddening face or rubbing his nose against his shoulder to smell his cologne.

If Louis and Eleanor are wondering what the hell’s going on, why Harry is so cuddly and why Niall is so nonchalant about it, they don’t ask.

“Stop looking at her,” Harry mumbles. He can’t really tell if it comes out clearly or even loud enough for Niall to hear, but he shrugs and rolls his shoulders as if he’s stretching. It feels more like he’s pushing him off.

“Niall,” Harry whines, “stop. _Stop_.”

“Fuck off, would ya?” Niall grumbles, shrugging his shoulders again harder, knocking Harry off. He almost loses his balance, but he manages to catch himself and sit up, staring and pouting.

“That one by the bar,” Niall says to Louis, casually flicking his head towards her. Louis turns to look, making it seem like he’s scanning the bar--Eleanor and Harry both stare straight at her.

“Looks like your type,” Louis nods, shifting his gaze to Harry and then Niall.

“Niall, _please_ , just wanna go home, wanna go to bed.” Harry flops his head down onto his arms, folded on the table, and lets out a long whine.

“Harry, will you shut the fuck up?” Niall snaps, hitting his closed hand on the edge of the table.

Louis and Eleanor watch with baited breath and Harry slowly lifts his head and stares at Niall, wide eyed and offended. He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it, and repeats a couple of times like a fish.

“Go sleep at theirs,” Niall starts pointedly, “I’m taking a bird back to _my_ fucking flat and I don’t want to see you there.”

It sobers him up immediately. They all can tell. Harry blinks quickly a few times and nods slowly, feeling his heart crawl into his throat and crumble.

“Eleanor, can I have your house key?” he asks, head tilted down towards the table so Niall can’t see the tears in his eyes; not like he’s looking at Harry right now anyway. His voice is weak and ashamed. “I just wanna go to bed.”

“Yeah, love,” she says softly, grabbing her purse from the floor. She hands him the whole key ring--there are only three on it anyway, and it’s pretty obvious that one’s for a car and one’s for a letterbox--so Harry says his thanks and leaves promptly, avoiding looking at Niall through even the corner of his eye.

Once Harry’s slouched figure has darted across the room and out of the door, Louis and Eleanor both snap their attention back to Niall who’s staring into his pint.

“Dude, what the fuck was that?” Louis hisses, leaning across the table. Eleanor crosses her arms daintily, not over her chest like she’s angry, but Niall can tell she’s going to scold him just as much as Louis is.

Niall shrugs, staring again down at the glass his hand is wrapped around.

“Niall, you’ve just had a proper row with him over--what? Him asking you not to pull? What was that about?”

“He’s been weird lately, I dunno.”

The trio sits in silence; Niall looks to them after a beat and they’re looking at each other, saying everything they need to without words.

The bird by the bar is gone, probably off with someone else.

“Weird how…? Because he seemed…“

“Is there something _going on_ between you two?” Eleanor asks softly, resting her elbows on the table.

Niall looks at her and frowns, but his cheeks burn red. She notices and glances to Louis to check that he’s seen it too.

“Lad, why didn’t you tell us?” Louis prys softly. Niall can feel another snap coming up, but he tries to hold it down, he genuinely does.

He shrugs.

“There’s nothing wrong with being… gay?” He emphasizes the last word as a question in hopes of getting Niall to open up, fill in the blanks he’s been missing.

“I’m not gay.”

It’s a start, at least, even if it’s all Niall mumbles with his blank stare.

“Is _he_?” Eleanor asks softly. They all know she doesn’t mean the barkeep Niall’s staring down.

Niall shrugs again. _Am I gay_? he wonders. The bartender is a fairly average looking guy, Niall notes, mid 30s probably. Black hair on his head and beard, kind of squidgy in the middle though maybe it could be muscle.

No, it’s not doing it for him. Nothing about it, and Niall can’t even get himself to think of anything he’d do with Harry with this stranger instead. It freaks him out, sends shivers down his spine to think of ever touching this guy’s ass or his cock--god, it’s probably so _hairy,_ like a fuckin’ rug, Harry’s not like that, he’s actually quite nicely trimmed--

Niall shakes his head to pass the thought and downs the last gulp of his beer.

“Answer us this, Niall: have you and Harry… _been_ _together_?”

“That’s none of your business, to be frank,” Niall nods once as speaks towards Louis and finally makes eye contact with him. It’s fierce, like he’s challenging him to ask something else, but he loses the fire when he sees the concern on his face, and then on Eleanor’s.

“Well, if you have,” Eleanor begins, speaking in a way that suggests she’s only making a theory, “then I think maybe you’ve just quite hurt his feelings, love. He’s clearly over the moon for you and you’ve just told him you’d rather shag a stranger than keep after him.”

Niall deflates, all the anger and the energy in him gone in an instant, leaving nothing in him but the buzz of the alcohol and the sounds of the pub and of his friends scolding him.

“Whatever is going on, we don’t need to know, but you’re not the person to hurt someone, Niall. Don’t hurt him. Tell him you’re not into him, tell him you’re a prick who made a mistake; whatever you have to do.”

Louis’s right. He’s not always, but when he is, there’s no denying it.

Niall sighs and holds his head in his hands. He stays there, completely still, until Eleanor starts to think he might be crying, and Louis thinks he could have fallen asleep, but no. He’s thinking.

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah, mate.”

“I’ve never been with a bloke before.”

“Before him,” Louis points out, and Niall glares for a split second before he’s sighing and nodding.

“Yeah. Something different about him.”

“I think you should go sleep it off,” Eleanor says, reaching across the table towards Niall. “Let Harry sleep it off too. I’ll bring him by tomorrow morning and you can sort it out.”

Niall nods and shoves his chair back from the table.

“Sorry to ruin your night,” he mutters as he stands up.

“Not our night you might have ruined,” Louis shrugs. Eleanor swats at his chest and gives him a look, but Niall shrugs the comment off and mumbles a short goodbye under his breath.

He nearly falls asleep on the tube, so unphased by the idea of not getting home that it takes him a few seconds after the doors open to even get up and shuffle out of the traincar.

Niall falls asleep alone that night, and the only reason he isn’t awake until morning is because he’s so bogged down by negative thoughts and alcohol that he basically passes out.

x

Harry hears Louis and Eleanor come in, but he’s so hazy in and out of sleep that he can’t place where they are or talk to them. They walk in, he’s sure, but then he can’t tell if they’re standing at the foot of the couch whispering about him or if they’re moving past towards their bedroom at the back of the flat. Harry can't help but think Eleanor’s pressed a tiny kiss on his forehead, but he’s too tired to open his puffy eyes and see.

In the morning, Eleanor drives Harry back to Niall’s flat on her way to work. It’s not the first time it’s happened--in their first couple of weeks living together, Harry spent every Friday and sometimes Saturday evening on Louis’s couch because Niall would make it clear that he’d be having someone over and Harry needn’t be around for that.

Niall had only let one stay until the morning--the first girl, one that Harry remembers is called Hailee, but she never came around again that he knew of. Now, if it was Harry’s fault, he doesn’t know, but Niall probably thinks so. It’s not Harry’s fault that she got skiddish when he accidentally walked in on their morning shag and hid in the toilet until they were done. But boy was Niall angry that morning; so angry that Harry started trying to find another flat nearby in case Niall threw him out.

After she’d gone, Harry could hear Niall stomping around, aggressively opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. When he finally stopped hiding and came out of the bathroom, he sat and watched as Niall was more forceful than necessary when fluffing the pillows and straightening the bed.

“Blue balls?” Harry joked, and Niall tried to glare at him, but Harry managed to make himself give a forced, over exaggerated cutesy shrug and Niall rolled his eyes instead.

That was the biggest row they’d had up until now. But now it’s personal, now it’s about feelings, it’s about _their_ sex, it’s about _them_.

“I feel a bit sick,” Harry admits softly when Eleanor stops her car just outside the walk up to the flat.

“Oh, I bet you do, love. You know you can go back to mine and Lou’s if you need to, just call one of us, yeah?”

Eleanor reaches out and squeezes Harry’s hand before he reaches to open the door. He really appreciates it but also really hopes he won't need to take her up on her offer to go back to stay at her’s.

“Good luck, love. Let us know how it goes.”

Harry waves over his shoulder as he walks away from the car. The front of the building has never looked so daunting, not even the first day he arrived back in May.

x

“My back hurts,” Harry explains as he climbs down onto the floor. Doesn't explain why his kit is off, doesn't explain why he won't look Niall in the eye.

Harry lays on the floor and stretches out--Niall can see a gap between the curve of his back and the hardwood ground; the perfect spot for Niall’s fingers to rest, his thumbs pressing into the soft area just above Harry’s hips, holding him down, rocking him into the floor.

Niall presses the heel of his palm over his crotch and bites his tongue-- _think of something else, think of the man from the bar_ , how hairy and unappealing his body would be, how he’s nothing like Harry, nothing like the perfectly smooth, evenly tanned skin, just the hints of soft hair trailing into his pants above the bulge of his soft cock. God, even the contrast of all of Harry’s dark black tattoos on his skin drives Niall mad; fuck if he knows what any of them mean or even what half of them are, but he’s really tempted to press his face into those leafy things on Harry’s hips and lick to see what they taste like, see if maybe he can suck some bruises onto them to look like flowers.

_Fuckfuckfuck._

Harry sits up after a minute, humming, sighing happily.

“Felt nice,” he says, looking at Niall with a lazy grin. Niall’s biting his tongue harder than ever, trying--and failing--to act casual, to not give away that he might bust if Harry doesn’t put some fucking clothes on. Shite, even when he’s sitting up at his spine curls forward and his skin and what little fat he has on his body pudges and rolls, Niall still wants to grab him and hold their bodies close.

“You okay?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Niall sighs, shaking his head. “Weird muscle cramp.”

“On your dick?” Harry swings his legs around his side and lifts himself on his knees, slowly starting to crawl towards Niall.

“On my--?” Niall’s cut off by the sound of his _fucking_ alarm.

It wasn’t real, not a single fucking thing, except it was, wasn’t it? The thoughts, the feelings--Niall got hard thinking about Harry, just _looking_ at him, and oh _god_ is he actually hard. It’s throbbing, actually, and he turns over onto his stomach and presses his hips down into the bed, groaning.

The front door clicks before he can touch himself. Niall raises his head to look around for Harry, and he’s not there.

It’s 8am, according to the clock. He should be here.

“Harry?” Niall calls. The front door clicks again.

“Are you decent?” Harry asks. Niall shifts around on the bed trying to be so careful not to grind his crotch down into the mattress; he gets to the point where he can stay on his stomach but turn his head to see the front door. Harry's sticking his head in, one hand clasped over his eyes. He must have been opening and closing the door, maybe too nervous to come in, Niall notes.

“You can come in.”

“Thank goodness,” Harry sighs, stepping into the room. He turns his back to Niall and closes the door as though he needs to give it his whole attention span, and Niall wants to say something but he can’t. He knows he needs to acknowledge last night--say something to break the tension and make Harry look at him--but he can’t.

Harry goes into the closet, and Niall can see him toeing his boots off. He takes this opportunity to get up and scurry to the bathroom, hand clasped over his crotch to keep it hidden just in case Harry can somehow see around him.

Niall turns the shower on and paces back and forth, tugging at his hair to stop him from tugging at his cock even though he really wants to. His mind runs a mile a minute and no amount of running water or humming or the sound of Harry turning the tv on can drown it out.

_Why do I want to shag Harry so much? Why can’t I just admit it, why did I make him leave, what if he hates me now, what if we never get back what we had before?_

Niall doesn’t like feeling anxious; he hates it actually--who doesn’t?--and over the years he’s come up with some pretty effective methods to keep it in check.

Step one, problem solve. Fix whatever can be fixed immediately.

The most urgent problem Niall has is one that’s not going away so long as he keeps thinking of Harry, so he strips off, steps into the shower, and relieves a bit of stress, imagining Harry on his knees in front of him or laying in bed below him as he tugs his dick slow with a firm grip.

Niall bites his arm when he comes and as soon as the pleasure washes away, he feels the guilt weigh heavy on his shoulders again. Harry’s still out there, still probably hurt from last night but trying to act normal, the same way he does whenever Niall snaps at him for making a mess or being too loud when he’s trying to sleep.

The memories of all the times Niall probably hurt or embarrassed Harry suddenly sends him into a panic, his breathing labored and shallow.

He turns the shower off and steps out, ignoring the water that pours off of his body and onto the floor. He needs to get out of the small area, and even the bathroom feels too small after only a few moments, like the walls are closing in.

Niall wraps a towel around his waist with shaky hands and leaves the loo quickly, opening the door a little too suddenly if the look Harry gives him is anything to go by--it’s a look of shock and a bit of confusion, and also the look Harry has when he _knows_ Niall is about to tell him off for something.

It’s not good for Niall’s state, so he goes into the closet and gets dressed quickly in an outfit that he had worn a hundred times--one he knew he looked good in, one that felt like he had order and control over something. He leaves after that, books it down the stairs out of the flat building and he doesn’t come back until he’s had three coffees at the cafe down the block and drained the battery of his phone making note after note about what he could say to Harry, what he _should_ say to explain how he feels.

When Niall goes back to the flat, Harry’s sitting at his desk typing away at his laptop. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t even acknowledge Niall, just keeps typing and staring at the screen with desperate intent.

They don’t really talk much that day or night besides a few casual remarks about a movie they end up watching while eating a pizza that Niall ordered when Harry asked what he wanted for dinner.

Worst of all, Harry sleeps on the couch that night.

x

The second day’s not much better, and Niall doesn’t go into work on Monday but he almost wishes he had just so he could avoid Harry’s flickering expressions and shy mannerisms--it’s like the past two months of becoming friends, becoming more, is completely wiped away and they have to learn how to interact all over again.

Niall can’t take it finally when Harry squishes himself into the corner of the couch to avoid touching Niall’s legs where they’re stretched out.

“Harry, we need to talk.” Niall punctuates his sentence by pausing the telly and sitting up. Harry looks at him wide-eyed and nods slowly, allowing himself to fill the space comfortably now that Niall isn’t occupying part of it. It kind of hurts.

“I think we do too.”

“Oh, do you?” Niall asks, disbelieving that Harry is even at all bothered by how they’ve been acting. He resents himself immediately for how defensive he sounds.

“Well, yeah… so,” Harry shrugs, talking slow both naturally and in hesitation, “I found a new apartment. So you’ll not have to deal with me soon, yeah? I’ll get out of your way.”

Niall feels any courage he has flee, falling right out of his ass.

“Oh, that’s… oh. Wow. Okay.”

Harry shows Niall a smile, and Niall can immediately tell it isn’t his real one. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and his dimples are hardly present.

“Yeah, it’s, um,” Harry clears his throat, nervous under Niall’s blank stare. “It’s that house I bought my desk from, with the nice couple and the estate sale? New owners are just renting out rooms and I got one by saying I knew the previous owners.” Harry shrugs. It’s a bit sheepish--he didn’t know the couple, not really, but he knew enough to pretend he did and apparently that was enough.

“Okay.” That’s all Niall can say. He turns back towards the tv and unpauses the boxing match, sounds of screaming and fighting immediately filling the room. “Okay,” he says again, quieter.

An hour later when Harry goes into the bathroom and turns the shower on to talk to his sister as if Niall can’t tell that that’s what he’s doing, he texts Louis. First, “Harry’s moving out,” and second, “I fucked up.”

x

Harry’s got half of his stuff packed the next day, and the rest of what’s out is what he uses on a day to day basis. On the third day after he told Niall the arrangement, they shared an early lunch--or maybe a late breakfast--and then Harry waited out by the road for one of his new housemates to arrive with a moving van.

Between the three of them--the third being a guy named George who is their age but looks younger and has a voice even deeper than Harry’s--Harry is moved out of their once shared flat much quicker than Niall is okay with.

When Harry’s giving him a one armed hug on the side of the street, Niall feels his last chance slipping between his fingers.

“You could have stayed, you know…” After they’ve separated, Niall rubs one hand on the back of his neck sheepishly; he’s broken a sweat and it feels dirty against his palm.

“No, I couldn’t,” Harry says with a sad smile, “I feel like I’ve taken advantage of your kindness by staying here and it’s… it’s been time for me to leave for a while, hasn’t it?”

“Taken advantage of _my_ kindness, or I’ve taken advantage of _yours…_?”

Harry looks stunned, stands there staring at Niall with his mouth agape, but under Niall’s defeated look, Harry furrows his brow and clears his throat.

“We’re still friends, Haz,” Niall says--it feels like he’s begging. “You can move out but we’re still friends, okay? So text me if you need anything, I’ve usually got my phone on me.”

“Yeah,” Harry nods, flashing Niall and closed-mouth smile, “will do.”

Niall walks away when Harry does--he doesn’t want to see him get in the van, doesn’t want to see him drive away. Hearing the door slam and the crunch of tires on the pavement is bad enough.

x

Niall texts Harry first. It’s two days later and he’s not heard anything from him, and sure maybe he’s just had a busy couple of days unpacking, but Niall can’t stand the silence. The empty spaces in his home, the lack of warmth, is bad enough. He usually doesn’t mind being alone, but something in him hurts. He’s missing something, and that something is Harry.

_Hey Harry Buddie how’s the new place !_

Niall puts his phone down on the couch beside him and slouches, sighing out the tension in his chest.

Harry texts back pretty quick, and Niall snatches his phone up to respond just as fast.

_It’s nice. Nick and George are nice._ Harry’s message says. Niall can’t help but to feel a bit jealous; _we were nice,_ he thinks.

_Awesome ! i’d love to meet them sometime !_

_Maybe soon,_ Harry responds.

Neither of them know how to respond or what to say next, so neither of them does. They try, though, both sitting in their respective rooms, biting their lips or holding their phones with shaking fingers. Things aren’t the same for either of them.

x

Niall learns over the next few weeks that Harry and Nick really get on and Nick introduces him to lots of people and takes him to really cool parties and Niall kind of resents him for that. Niall could have done that for Harry if he hadn’t been so damn confused--if he’d known sooner that he’s pretty much in love with him rather than later. Maybe then Harry would gush about _Niall_ watching his favorite movies with him and _Niall_ indulging his scented candle infatuation and _Niall_ falling asleep in Harry’s bed.

God, Niall never knew it could physically hurt to be jealous. It _really_ hurts, especially when Harry tells him he slept in Nick’s room and didn’t get Niall’s messages until the morning, or how he blows off lunch with Niall a couple of times because he was at work with Nick and promised he’d go to lunch with his friends.

He’s so goddamned jealous that of _course_ Harry could make someone fall in love with him wherever he went. Sometimes Niall thought that Harry didn’t even realize he was doing it, but he had to have some sort of idea with his pretty eyes and his soft hair and his plush lips and that slow voice that scratches just the right way in the morning and after a really good blow.

“Invite him out to drinks or something, Niall. Get him drunk and tell him you love him and if he hates you, he probably won't remember it in the morning.”

“Louis, that’s weird. I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why not? Not like you didn’t get him drunk to tell him you didn’t want--”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re about to say, but you better fucking not,” Niall threatens, and Louis shuts his mouth and raises his hands defensively.

“Sorry, lad. I’m just saying. Maybe don’t do it on purpose, but maybe getting a few drinks in you two would be a good way to start talking again.”

“You say it like we’ve stopped talking.” Niall crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. Louis rolls his eyes.

“Texting and coincidentally not being able to meet up with each other _ever_ is hardly talking, Nialler.”

“Fuck off, Lou,” Niall mumbles, turning back to the soundboard. “Where the fuck is Julien? I’m tired of listening to you gab.”

“Don’t take your jealousy out on me, Nialler. Invite Hazza out for some drinks, tell him me and Eleanor will come with; it’s been a while since we’ve seen him.”

Niall does just that.

x

Niall’s halfway to drunk before Harry even arrives, so when he finally spots Harry across the room, he waltzes straight up to him with a wide, sloppy smile.

“Haz, it’s been too long,” he cheers, wrapping his arms around him without hesitation.

“Hey,” Harry drawls, rubbing one arm down Niall’s back in the couple of seconds before he pulls away.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

Niall has Harry’s hand in his and they’re at the bar before Harry can really think of a reason to say no, and the only one is that it seems like Niall’s had quite a bit already. He doesn’t say anything, though, makes Niall order him something “girly” because it has more alcohol than the beer Niall likes, and maybe it’ll catch him up to Niall’s boldness.

It does, and sooner rather than later, they’re sitting beside each other at a table in the corner with Louis and Eleanor, and Harry’s not the only one licking his lips and eyeing someone up and down.

“How big’s your boyfriend?” Niall slurs into Harry’s ear after he’s leaned far over into his space. Harry giggles and tilts his head away. Neither of them notice the knowing look shared between El and Lou.

“My boyfriend? Niall, I--”

“Just tell me,” he pleads, “tell me Nick’s not gonna kick my ass. Could I take him?”

“Nick? Niall, seriously,” Harry tries again, less giggly than before. He turns his head, and Niall’s nearly nose to nose with him. His eyes are droopy, not with sleep but with liquor, and somehow the blue is so dark that Harry wants to get closer and see what he’ll find in them.

“ _Seriously_ ,” Niall picks up where Harry pauses, “I want to kiss you. Just tell me you won't get in trouble with your boyfriend.”

Harry bites his lip. He tries to stay rational when he’s drunk, not going off with strangers, not kissing people who have hurt him, but Niall’s lips are so shiny and red from where he’s been chewing on them and his face and neck are flushed and all Harry can think about is how good he smells and how close they are and how Niall’s hand has been crawling up his thigh for the past half hour at an achingly slow rate.

“What boyfriend?” he finally whispers. It takes Niall a second, but when the realization hits him that this is Harry giving him permission, he darts forward through the rest of the tiny space between them and plants half their lips together, and admittedly half of their kiss is cheek. Harry fixes it with a chuckle and a soft hand against the side of Niall’s jaw, urging him to turn until their mouths slot together proper and one or maybe both of their tongues are poking out, tracing against a lip that isn’t their own.

“Alright, lads,” Louis says, hitting his hand on the table loud enough to catch their attention but not too loud so as to sound malicious. “How about we call you a lift and you two take this somewhere else.”

“Mine?” Niall asks, pulling back enough to stare into Harry’s eyes which are half glazed over and shiny.

“Yeah,” he pants, “yeah, okay.”

Niall’s out of his chair and urging Harry to do the same before Louis can even pick up his phone. “We’re gonna wait outside,” Niall says, and though he doesn’t know it while he feels Harry up against the brick exterior of the building, Louis tells as much to the driver.

(“Pick up the two idiot blokes outside, you’ll know ‘em when you see ‘em,” is what he says specifically.)

Harry’s leaning against the outside of the pub with Niall standing between his legs, hands on his hips beneath his shirt, slowly making out and only just resisting the urge to rut their hips together when a car blasts the horn behind them, making them jump.

“I’ve not got all night, you two,” the driver yells--thankfully his reception isn’t anything more than that and a mumbled “keep your hands where I can see them.” Harry’s experienced worse from strangers he’s paid to take him and a partner home, but Niall’s never so much as had a driver blink at him about his dates. He realizes that when Harry sits in the middle seat to be as close as possible without bordering inappropriate, and he has to force a lump back down his throat. He’s not going to let anxieties of scenarios that aren’t happening ruin his night-- _their_ night.

Niall tunes in when he registers Harry’s deep voice coming from beside him. He just manages to catch the end of his address being given to the driver.

“Mine?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry says, leaning in close to nuzzle his face against Niall’s neck. Niall glances at the rearview mirror, but the driver doesn’t meet his eyes. “We agreed on that earlier, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t realize you remembered the address.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Harry’s lips dust across Niall’s neck innocently when he pouts. It makes Niall shiver in the best way. “I lived there for two months.”

“I know,” Niall sighs, putting his hand on the middle of Harry’s thigh, curling his fingers towards the sensitive skin at the inside. Harry closes his legs around Niall’s hand--a warning not to do too much before they get home--and Niall doesn’t do a thing to pull away, loving the heat radiating between his legs.

They--including the driver--are silent the whole way through back to Niall’s neighbourhood, and then Harry’s sliding out of the car before Niall can even swipe his card to pay for the fare.

“Hey, slow down,” he calls out, stumbling from the car, just managing to swing at the door and send it closing before he’s jogging up to the door of the building that Harry’s holding open for him.

“Hey, hurry up,” he teases, ducking inside and bolting for the stairs before Niall can get his hands on him.

They’re both out of breath when they get to the end of the hall on Niall’s floor; Harry’s a bit dizzy to top it off, so he’s holding onto Niall’s waist tightly, and Niall’s hands are shaking as he tries to fit his key into the lock.

“Fuckin’ thing,” he huffs under his breath, and coincidentally he manages to get the door open just after that as if his cursing at it worked like a charm.

Harry lets go of Niall to go into the closet and kick his boots off and hang his jacket on a spare hanger, and Niall just watches as he so effortlessly falls back into the swing of things in Niall’s home.

“I wanna fuck you,” Niall breathes against Harry’s mouth once he’s come out of the closet, half of his shirt’s buttons undone, and his hands are reaching for Niall’s waist.

“You what?” Harry asks, suddenly turning his head away from Niall’s. Niall whines and grabs Harry’s jaw, trying to sort their lips back together, but Harry slides one hand up Niall’s shirt onto his belly to hold him at bay.

“Really, Niall, I’m serious. You want to _what_?”

“I’m serious, really, please, I’ve got like-- I’ve got lube, for like, to do that, to-- for-- _this_ , Harry.” He’s not making much sense as he begs--and what he’s doing is definitely begging--while Harry tries to shush him.

“Niall, Niall, stop.” Harry takes Niall’s hands off of his face and holds them between their chests. “Listen to me. Do you really want to? Are you sure it’s not going to freak you out? You couldn’t even give me a blowjob that one time I asked.”

“I’m not gay--but I’m not straight! I’m not-- well I don’t know what I am, I just, like, I don’t know Harry, I know _you_ , I want _you_.” Niall’s face is crumbling into something dramatic and confused and Harry sighs, pulling Niall in close by their combined hands before pressing their mouths together.

“Shh,” he whispers between kisses, “fuck me, then. Tell me you want me and we’ll figure it out later.”

“I want you so bad.”

Harry moans when Niall’s hands break free of his grip and grab at Harry’s neck and jaw to drag him in for a wet kiss, all tongue and teeth more so than lips. He goes to work on his own buttons while Niall starts shuffling them back towards the bed. His shirt just slides off of his hands and onto the floor as Niall’s mouth breaks away from Harry’s so that he can drop to sit down at the foot of the bed and look up at him.

“I’m sorry I was a twat,” he says, rubbing his hands up the sides of Harry’s legs.

“You _were_ a twat,” Harry says, resting his arms on Niall’s shoulders so that his fingers can tangle into Niall’s hair. It’s a good enough response to make Niall chuckle.

“I wanna make it up to you.” Niall reaches for the button on Harry’s jeans and frees it slowly before dragging the zipper down just as slow.

“Do it then,” Harry huffs impatiently. The feeling of Niall’s hands ghosting around his crotch is already bothering him, and all he wants to do it get Niall’s touch on him for real.

Niall leans in and kisses Harry’s belly where it starts to get a bit squidgy--if he were anyone else, Harry would blush and shy away, but there’s something so domestic and sweet about Niall doing that that he can only stop and stare in awe.

Niall dips his hands into the sides of Harry’s jeans and pushes them down his legs, struggling once they’ve gotten down past his knees. Niall has to make a decision on what to do with Harry’s crotch in his face now--he’s never done this, never done anything with a man before Harry, so he doesn’t ever know _what_ to do.

He nuzzles his face into Harry’s hip and sighs against the bulge under his black briefs and it makes Harry whimper.

Harry kicks and fights with his jeans until they’re off his ankles and all that’s left on his body are his pants, socks, and Niall’s hands. They’re not bad things to have on, but two of them need to go.

Harry shoves Niall’s shoulders until he lays down on the bed. He looks so attractive like this, even in the dim light of the studio flat and even at the weird angle Harry’s looking at him from. Niall could say the same, really.

Harry unceremoniously takes his socks off before making quick work of Niall’s trousers and shirt, leaving them both in only their smallest clothes. They stay where they are for a minute, catching their minds up to the present and staring at each other before Niall’s scooting up the bed and Harry is crawling after him, licking his lips like he’s ready to attack.

“Sit against the headboard for me,” Harry purrs in Niall’s ear and then sits back on his haunches and waits patiently as Niall awkwardly shuffles backwards until he’s slouched against the frame of the bed and Harry can straddle his lap.

“Where’s your lube?” Harry teases while he talks, mock-riding Niall’s lap slowly, rolling his hips and moaning under his breath while he moves.

“In the desk drawer,” Niall stutters, pointing with the hand closest while wrapping his other hand around the back of Harry’s hip towards his ass. He swallows hard and braces his feet on the bed so that he can get some leverage to grind up, rubbing his cock between Harry’s cheeks, or at least the feeling is to that effect, plus a couple of layers of cloth.

Harry leans over and pulls at the top drawer of his desk--it sticks a bit and he has to fight with it, rocking back against Niall’s thighs. Niall bites back a moan, but changes his mind halfway through, letting out an almost strangled sound that makes Harry chuckle.

“You’ve felt nothing yet,” he mumbles, leaning down to press his lips quickly to Niall’s for a sweet change of pace, but then when he looks down at the bottle, he chuckles again, lighter this time.

“Aww, it’s strawberry scented. How cute.”

“I just, I heard it’s good to have a scent, for um… yanno.” Their hips still as the room is filled with their voices and Harry smiles bashfully.

“You got this… for this? Specifically?”

“Yeah,” Niall smiles back, the corners of his mouth flicking nervously. “I, um… I hoped we would, before you moved out, but… it was in the post, and then I was a twat, and… kept it just in case.” Harry smiles wide and chuckles, rolling his eyes.

“What an odd thing for me to be charmed at.”

Niall smiles back and leans up to peck Harry’s lips while brushing his thumb against Harry’s thigh.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks then, “It’s quite the process.”

“I’m ready,” Niall nods. “Tell me what to do.”

Harry puts the bottle of lube aside and lifts his hips, pulling his pants down to struggle out of them. Niall eagerly assists, and Harry returns the favor by getting him naked as well.

“Okay,” Harry begins, settling on Niall’s thighs just far enough away from his cock and balls to keep them from rubbing together and getting either of them worked up too quick. “Get the lube.”

“Okay,” Niall chuckles, picking the bottle up. “And?”

“ _And_ ,” Harry says softly, resting his hands on his own thighs, balled up nervously. “Get some on the tips of your first two fingers.”

Niall’s smile falls slowly when he senses Harry’s nerves. He moves carefully, trying to do exactly what Harry wants as perfectly as possible. The lube is cold on his fingers, and he uses his thumb to stop it from slipping off down his fingers.

“Now reach around me…”

Niall stares up at Harry, lips parted slightly in awe. He reaches around and without further instruction begins to slowly rub his lubed up fingers between Harry’s cheeks until he catches his hole and Harry gasps.

“There,” he whines, scrunching his face up, “go slow, get it wet and add just a little pressure…”

Niall licks and lips and does as Harry says, rubbing around the rim and then slowly adding pressure in the center once the entire area is slippery. His partner asks again once the tip of Niall’s finger slides in, and Niall’s eyes widen, searching Harry’s face for his exact reaction. He looks like he’s on the edge of bliss, biting his lip and squirming until Niall pushes a little further in.

“Mm, okay, yeah,” Harry moans, “just like that. Maybe get a bit more lube, just… slowly get one all the way in and then another.”

Niall does just that, taking Harry’s encouragement as he goes along. His confidence grows the louder and longer Harry whines and moans, until finally Niall’s got two fingers deep in Harry’s ass, and Harry’s pressing down onto them groaning Niall’s name and pulling the hair at the back of his neck.

“More,” Harry gasps, “I’m ready, want you to fuck me.” His head is tilted back and his eyes are screwed shut, and Niall thinks he looks gorgeous.

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t I--”

“No, I’m sure, Niall. Want you now. Do you have a condom?”

“Fuck, yeah, same drawer as before.”

Harry reaches around and holds Niall’s wrist still while he rises up, letting his fingers slide out. Harry reaches over, fights with the drawer again, and comes back with a condom that he unpacks and rolls onto Niall’s cock, giving him a few short pumps to make sure he’s still hard after not receiving attention for several minutes.

Harry scoots forward, raises himself up so that Niall’s cock is below his ass, and teasingly rubs the tip of Niall’s cock against his taint until it goes back far enough to catch his hole. Harry licks his lip and pauses, staying still once Niall’s cock is lined at just the right spot.

“Get a bit more lube on your cock, then I’m gonna sit.”

Niall nods and eagerly adds lube to his palm and then to his cock, keeping a firm grip on himself after coating his shaft as liberally as he can manage.

“Okay,” Niall nods, “I’m covered.”

Harry nods back and leans in, cupping Niall’s cheeks. They kiss firmly, both staying still while they work up the nerve to move. Niall can't help but to tease his cock against Harry’s hole, rubbing slowly in circles until Harry gasps and pulls away.

“Fine, okay, yeah, shit.” Harry licks his lips and slowly presses down--Niall holds his cock steady as he sits. It’s hard to get it in at first, but once it’s in line, he’s enveloped in a few seconds.

Both boys let out a loud moan, and Harry pants with heavy breaths right after, tilting his head back.

“ _God,”_ Niall gasps, “I didn't expect it to feel like this.”

Harry seems to perk up; lifts his shoulders and arches his chest towards Niall as he grinds his hips in circles down onto his lap.

“Yeah?” he asks softly. “Tell me what it feels like.”

Niall kisses Harry's collarbone and looks up at him; takes a minute to _really_ look at him, to connect the feeling to his face, the vulnerable look in his eyes; to gather his wits again after losing them all and finally speak.

“So good, pet. It's so tight like there's no room for me even though I just _made_ room with my fingers. Fuck, and it's so hot and soft and so god damn tight and,” Niall whimpers when Harry licks his lips, tilts his head back down when Niall starts talking, and begins raising himself and lowering back down what's really only about an inch or two but feels like miles.

“Oh god, oh fuck,” Niall moans, squeezing hard on Harry's love handles, anchoring him down after only a couple of movements. “You gotta stop or I'm gonna come in you already.”

Harry slides his wrists around Niall’s neck and leans in slowly.

“Come in me?” He whispers. There's something about the tone, how innocent and soft his voice sounds compared to the normal scratch and grumble of it, and also the circular grind of his hips that makes Niall buck his hips up once, though uncontrollably, and moan loudly, releasing into the condom.

“You fucking menace,” Niall pants, sliding his hands back around to Harry's ass, grabbing handfuls of it to guide him in raising up slowly.

Harry stops halfway, leans down and kisses under Niall's ear, chuckling softly. “It's okay. I came just as fast my first time giving.”

“You--?” Niall asks, hissing after as his cock slips out of Harry's hole and the wet condom taps against his belly.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, pulling the condom off and tying it in the middle. He hands Niall the flannel after, and waits until he's done wiping himself clean before urging his hand towards Harry's dick. “I like it both ways.”

Niall runs his thumb over the slit on Harry's tip and licks a bead of sweat off of his own lip.

“I guess you've got more to teach me, then.”

Harry hisses against Niall’s mouth as he leans in for a kiss, stifling his moans there until he cums a minute later with Niall’s hand still around him and two of his own fingers rimming his ass.

They stay still after the sound of Harry's climax have ceased, Niall cradling Harry's ass, and Harry cradling Niall's neck. They try to catch their breath; Harry keeps their faces close so neither of them can escape a heat wave from the other's panting, but Niall doesn't so much as mind. He closes the gap, pecking Harry's lips slowly a couple of times until he whines and turns off of Niall's lap and flops down on the bed.

“My back hurts,” he sighs into Niall's pillow, closing his eyes while hugging it close to his face. He hides in it and takes a deep inhale; it smells like Niall.

“Next time we'll have you lying down then?” Niall asks carefully, slowly scooting down the bed until he can lay down and turn onto his side to face Harry. The latter peeks his eye open and quirks an eyebrow.

“Next time huh? Are you romancing me, Niall?”

Niall's cheeks flush red; he speaks before he loses his nerve.

“Well I been doing for a while, so…”

“Oh?” Harry asks, voice raising in curiosity; Niall can hear how tired he is, though, and he hasn't opened his eyes since laying down. “Is _that_ what you've been doing?”

“I hope so,”  he mutters, leaning over to peck the top of Harry's cheek. “Has it worked?”

“Mm,” Harry hums, teasing, smiling. “I'll get back to you.”

Niall closes his eyes while a soft smile spreads across his face.

“Okay,” he yawns, wrapping one arm around Harry's back to hold him close.

Niall wakes up once in the middle of the night to Harry shuffling around, moving both himself and Niall so that they could spoon, Harry's back pressed against Niall’s chest. He kisses Harry’s shoulder, lets his lips linger and drag up to Harry’s neck and the shell of his ear; Harry makes a sound like a giggle that dissolves into a whine as he shivers. Niall smiles, and then they’re asleep again.

He wakes up again in the morning only after Harry's gone, leaving nothing but a note on the desk.

_Sorry, had to go. Call me when you get the chance. We should talk. xH_ is written in his crooked scrawl. There's nothing malicious about it--nothing that suggests at all that Harry is upset with Niall or what they've done, but a sinking feeling still overtakes Niall as he lays alone, still naked and hung over from the night before.

_Harry has a boyfriend_ , Niall thinks. _He has a boyfriend and I made him a cheater and now he doesn't want to see me anymore._

Niall doesn’t get the chance to call Harry that day--or at least that’s what he tells himself as he keeps doing little shit to distract himself as the hours tick away. Calls his mum in the morning and asks about her new dog, calls his da after for a quick catch up, even calls Greg and asks after Theo. He tidies the kitchen cabinets and the closet but it was all pretty tidy before so he’s still left with most of the afternoon and evening to fill.

Niall doesn’t call the next day either. A week goes by, actually, and Harry doesn’t call him, and he doesn’t call Harry even though he thinks of him every single day. He knows he’s being a twat by ignoring this but at least then he won't have to look Harry in the eye and hear they can’t be together because of Harry’s boyfriend. Also, he’s been writing some good songs since breaking his own heart a little bit.

The week comes to a close with Niall seeing Louis again--not in a pub this time, but on FaceTime.

“Tell me why the fuck your boyfriend has been blowing up my phone all week.”

“What? What are you on about--”

“ _Harry,_ ” Louis emphasizes, eyebrows raising, unamused. “He's basically your boyfriend, don't act like he isn't. He's called me near every day this week and texted me a million times asking after you. Why are you ignoring him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He _has_ a boyfriend though and I fucked him, like, _proper_ and now he’s ignoring _me_.”

“First, I don’t need to know what you did with him. Second, you really need to call him, Niall. Get this shit sorted because if he calls me one more time whining after you, I’m gonna hurt his feelings.”

“Lou--”

“Genuine. I don’t want to, but I’ll do it.” He pauses and one hand comes into frame, pointing at the screen. Niall knows it’s directed at him. “Call him,” Louis says sternly, and then he hangs up and Niall can kind of see his own stupid, dazed expression reflecting off the glass of his phone.

He takes a deep breath and sighs heavily, opening Harry’s contact before he loses his nerve.

_come over ?_ Niall texts him, followed by _wanna talk ?_

Niall sees the ellipses roll up on Harry’s side of the screen almost instantaneously, but they disappear and come back several times over the course of a few minutes. He can only imagine the anger Harry must feel towards him right now--for acting so casually after ignoring him for a week, for probably seeming like he’s asking for a hookup, for only texting because Louis told him to.

He feels like an asshole and it really, really bothers him.

_I’ll be there soon._ is all Harry says back 7 minutes later, according to the timestamp on Niall’s screen. It’s good it didn’t take much longer or else the skin around his ripped and bloodied thumb nail wouldn’t have made it.

Niall doesn’t know exactly how long “soon” is since he doesn’t know where Harry lives now--he knows it’s in the old house that nice couple lived in but he never went to see it--so he cleans the apartment and sings under his breath to calm his nerves. His desk is tidy, the bed is made, the pillows on the couch are fluffed, and he’s about to start wiping down the benchtops when someone knocks on his door.

He turns around so quick that he gets dizzy, and his heart drums loud in his ears.

Niall crosses the room quickly, feet stomping as he goes--he doesn’t care if Harry hears it and thinks he sounds eager. He _is_ eager.

For a split second as he’s pulling open the door, he doesn’t think it’s actually Harry because the person is wearing Vans sneakers and Adidas track-pants, but by the time he finally trails up to their face, he sees Harry’s familiar polite smile.

“Hello,” he drawls. Niall almost expects him to wave based on the way he shifts his weight up onto his toes when he speaks, but he doesn’t, just keeps them planted in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Hey,” Niall smiles, turning into the flat so Harry can walk in past him. Niall reaches out instinctively, hand wrapping around Harry’s arm as he passes. It leaves them standing close in the entry area as the door clicks closed, Harry facing the rest of the room, but his head is turned towards Niall. His look is almost bewildered.

“Sorry, um,” Niall stutters, letting go slowly. His fingertips brush past Harry’s elbow and he tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him to reach for Harry’s hand as soon as it emerges from his pocket.

“It’s okay,” he shrugs, reaching up to push his hair off his forehead. There are little beads of sweat near his hairline, Niall notices as his eyes flick across Harry’s face--he must have walked here.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Niall asks awkwardly, voice catching in the middle so that he has to clear his throat after he’s finished talking lest his choke on his spit.

“My--? Niall,” Harry sighs, shifting his weight onto one leg, cocking his hip out while rolling his eyes, “I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend.” His voice is soft even though he’s bordering annoyed, and if Niall almost misses what he says because of that, well don’t hold it against him.

“You-- wait, are you serious? I thought you were just saying that, like-- like ‘he’s not here so he doesn’t exist’ kind of thing.”

“Is that the kind of person you think I am?” Harry blurts, face falling into a frown.

“No! No, no, no, it’s not like that Haz, I just mean like-- Well fuck, I’ve got my foot in my mouth, fuckin’ shit...” Niall groans and turns away, starts to take a step towards the bed so he can sit down, but a hand on his waist catches him, and Harry’s moving to stand in front of him once more.

“Stop. Stop, it’s okay,” he sighs, “Niall, why did you ask me to come back to yours last week?”

“Because I want you,” Niall answers honestly. His hands twitch nervously at his sides, so he moves them to slowly slide up Harry’s arms, resting at the bunched fabric by his elbows.

“Want me how?”

“Want, you, like,” Niall sighs, looking to the side, but he feels Harry’s hand twitch on his hip like it’s going to reach up to move his head, so he moves on his own. Harry’s eyes are desperate and just shy of watery and Niall hates what he’s done.

“I’m sorry, H,” he says, moving his hands up further to drape his arms over Harry’s shoulders and link behind his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I want you physically--like sex, and like _being here_ with me. And I want you exclusively, no more of this romping around. I’m sorry that I hurt you and made you move out, I’m sorry that I didn’t call you after you left. You’ve got to understand this is fucking scary for me. I know love is love and all that, but I’m so used to having all this control on my life and nothing surprises me anymore but you’re not _but_ surprises and it’s overwhelming but I want it so much.”

Harry looks shocked at first--Niall can’t tell if he wasn’t expecting to hear it at all or if he thought he might have to pry into Niall a bit harder for it--but then he looks happy. Like, _really_ fucking happy, and happy looks so good on Harry. His eyes stay watery, and they crinkle at the corners when he smiles, casting his gaze shyly down at the ground. It’s so cute that Niall can’t help but pull him fully into his arms, to repeat what he said-- _I want you so much_ \--and bury his face against Harry’s neck and the soft fabric of his hoodie.

Harry stutters, saying something about “I” and something about “but” as he hesitantly accepts Niall’s embrace, hugging black slowly but so tightly. He finally quiets and settles on something to say while they stand together.

“Why did you shut me out? You know I could have helped you. I had to go through this too, you know, the first time I really fell for a man.”

Niall makes a noise that’s a mix of a groan and a sigh, rubbing his nose deeper into the fold of the hood of Harry’s hoodie against his shoulder.

“I dunno,” he admits, all of his own shame leaking into his voice. “I’m an arsehole, maybe. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well you kind of did,” Harry says in a hushed tone almost like he doesn’t want Niall to hear it or is too afraid to admit it.

“I know I did and I’m sorry.” He squeezes Harry’s shoulders, tilts his head back and plants a kiss on Harry’s cheek--hopes there isn’t a line he shouldn’t cross there, but Harry moves his head closer to Niall if anything, and that’s a good sign.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Niall repeats himself, mumbling against Harry’s skin. There’s the tiniest hint of stubble on Harry’s cheek and it tickles Niall’s lips, and almost ridiculously easily excites him. He hasn’t seen facial hair on Harry before. “Thought up some stupid shite, I did. Like if I just acted like we were only friends with benefits you wouldn’t have to wait for me to figure my shite out and I could convince myself I didn’t catch feelings.”

“But you did… catch feelings. Didn’t you? Or else I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Niall purses his lips and they press against Harry’s cheek in a light kiss. Niall rears his head back to look Harry in the eye after, pulling what is surely a great frowned-mouth double-chinned face because of their proximity.

“Are you kidding? God, I’m crazy about you, Haz.” Niall squirms his body slightly, gets Harry to loosen his arms so that he can step back just enough to cup Harry’s cheek and clock a tear that’s about to fall from his eye.

“I won’t say I love you,” he mumbles, voice low, “only because I don’t think love should be like this--like me being an arse and you waiting for me to stop hurting both of us. But if you let me, I reckon I can make it up to you, and I’ve got no doubts I’m gonna fall in love with y-- Harry, please don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry,” he whines, cracking a watery smile as he draws one sleeve-covered hand up to swipe his cheeks while sniffling. “I just… I dunno. I’ve been so bothered about this and it’s just really nice to hear you talk about how you feel finally. Like this huge weight off my shoulders, I don’t have to keep worrying about what I’ve done wrong.”

“Babe,” Niall half whines, devastated. His heart breaks a little, and he doesn’t know what to say so he tips his head up to catch Harry’s lips in a sweet kiss. It lasts only a few seconds, but they both relish in the warm press of each other’s mouths and even the sound of their lips parting.

“I’m serious, though. I’m really happy we’re talking about this.”

“Me too, H. Can you forgive me?”

Harry nods slowly and smiles again, a little uneven and maybe unsure.

“I will. I know you’re a good person, Niall. I can’t be mad at you for going through a rough patch.”

“Can be mad at me for being an arsehole, though.”

“Stop saying that,” Harry laughs, drawing Niall up in his arms again. “Why don’t you kiss me instead?”

Niall smiles, thinks of some smart comment but doesn’t say it, and leans in happily to kiss Harry--his _boyfriend_ , he thinks, weighing the word in his mind. It’s not nearly as strange as he thought it would be now that he’s got him in his arms, bodies pressed together almost the whole way down. It’s nice.

It’s really nice.

x

Niall’s back rests against the couch; Harry’s back rests against Niall’s chest; the back of the guitar rests against Harry’s stomach.

“You’re getting better,” Niall mumbles, moving his head around to peck behind Harry’s ear. He reaches his arm up, covers Harry’s fingers in his own, and moves them onto different strings.

“Here,” he mumbles, “and strum.” Their other hands move together as Harry strums and Niall keeps his hand on top to guide his speed.

“And then move to A,” Niall commands. He feels Harry’s fingers moving and can tell they’re in the right position without opening his eyes. “Good job, petal. Strum, then G.”

Harry does as he’s told and Niall smiles and hums, pleased.

“Now put the three together.” Niall takes his hands away and circles his arms around Harry’s waist. He doesn’t have to be face to face with him to tell that Harry pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he fumbles over the strings a couple of times before playing the three chords in the pattern Niall has been trying to teach him.

“That was it,” Niall says, snapping his eyes open once the music stops. Harry’s already turned his head to look at him with a wide grin.

“I got it!”

“You got it, pet!” Niall’s smile is as wide and proud as Harry’s as he leans in to peck his lips. “Gonna be playing songs in no time.”

“Thanks to you,” Harry coos, and Niall rolls his eyes playfully.

“If you say so.”

“I do,” Harry chuckles, still grinning. There’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m telling you, trading skills is the best part of a relationship.”

“Oh, sod off,” Niall scoffs as Harry wiggles his eyebrows.

“I’m just saying,” he sing-songs as he looks back down at the guitar in his lap and practices the progression again. “You’ve lasted much longer thanks to me. And I can actually play guitar now.”

“Oi, I wouldn’t say you can play guitar quite yet.” Niall expertly dodges the sexual comment but he knows Harry will work his way back around to it

“Well then _clearly_ we’ve been spending too much time shagging and not enough time on music lessons. This has got to be a fair trade, Niall.” (There it is.)

“Oi, last time I checked, you were _real_ pleased with this trade.” To prove his point, Niall reaches up and pushes a dangling curl away from Harry’s neck so he can lean in and attach his mouth to a bruise Niall’d just given him this morning.

“Okay,” Harry gasps, nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah, I like this.”

“Thought so,” Niall mumbles against his skin.

The guitar lessons are forgotten, as they often are. Their bed, still unmade from their last romp, gets used again.

Harry’s desk is back where it should be, his clothes are hanging in the closet once more, there’s a bowl of fruit that Niall wouldn’t have bought on his own sitting in the kitchen, and the tv is turned onto one of Harry’s shows.

It’s been 6 months since the first time they met that day Harry showed up out of the blue. Other than a bleak month somewhere in the middle where they were hardly talking, they’ve been stitched together at the seams, hard to tell where one stops and the other begins.

Louis takes credit for it, of course; says he knew there was something special about Harry the first time he saw him. The couple rolls their eyes.

“Oi,” Louis says, “Don’t be mad at me that you almost ruined your shot. I set you up, you’re the ones who almost lost it. I even helped you get back on track.” He crosses his arms and nods triumphantly.

Niall chuckles and looks at Harry (who sits tucked under his arm) fondly.

“Can I say something cheesy?” he mumbles, already feeling his cheeks redden.

“Hm?” Harry hums, smiling as he turns to look up.

“Thanks for not letting me ruin it.”

Harry smiles wider, and the smile gains a giggle.

“You were a bit of a knobhead but you’re so damn cute, I couldn’t help myself. A sweet baby gay needed some guidance.”

“Okay, okay,” Niall laughs, swatting Harry’s hand down when it comes up to pinch his cheek. “That’s good, that’s enough.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Harry coos, and Niall laughs, pretending to hold him off when he moves to climb into his lap.

“Enough,” he groans, “you’re so annoying.”

“Aww, but you love me.” Harry pouts, linking his arms behind Niall’s head once he’s sufficiently settled on his thighs.

“Yeah,” Niall sighs contentedly, hugging Harry’s waist, “I love you.”


End file.
